by S. A. Tholin
IRON TRUTH
S.A. THOLIN
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © S.A. Tholin 2018
FOR M.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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Epilogue
Thank you
1. Joy
Joy had arrived at Kirkclair Spaceport with a heart heavier than her luggage, but starlight washed her fears away. Holographic constellations glowed on the domed ceiling, each projected star a reminder that there was more to the universe than the chilling black-between.
The terminal was a shuffle of half-asleep and exasperated travellers. Departure celebrations were over, complementary drinks long since gone. Anxiety might easily have crept back in, but Joy kept it at bay searching the constellations, imagining the route the Ever Onward might take, past worlds glittering with civilisation, and worlds wild and unknown.
"Hey Joy." Her brother's smile was as bright as the stars. Of course it was; Finn Somerset wasn't afraid of anything, not even the prospect of leaving their home on Mars for uncolonised space. He gave her a quick hug and handed her a sugar-dusted macaron. "Enjoy it like it's your last. I doubt many pastry chefs made the cut to settle Gainsborough."
The macaron, wrapped in delicate foil, nestled in her hand like a little bird. Another reminder - colony life would be difficult at first, certainly not as easy as the glossy corporate adverts would have her believe. But Gainsborough had fields of blue sweetgrass and oceans as vast as Earth's, and the air there would be fresh and unpolluted. Perhaps she wouldn't even need her med-bracelet anymore.
Finn ushered her to a check-in desk, earning angry glares and a few harsh words, but he shut the protestors down with authority. Joy blushed, taking a nervous bite out of the macaron.
Outside, dust danced in the downwash of shuttles. It pattered against the spaceport's windows, turning the horizon into an orange haze of smog and streetlights, and whenever the doors opened, it whirled inside. It was on the terminal's floor, on the soles of shoes and in the hair of waiting passengers. It was everywhere, even on Joy's luggage, but that was okay, because this was the last time she'd be breathing Martian air.
She'd wanted a last glimpse of home, but the wind was carrying black smoke from the city, thick enough to obscure the district where her apartment (old apartment, she corrected herself) was located.
News of an explosion scrolled by on an overhead display, but before Joy had time to read more, Finn took her hand and hurried her toward the shuttle landing pads. His uniform was enough to see them to the front of the line; his Chief of Security ID getting them swiftly through mandatory luggage checks.
"Did you see the explosion on the news, Finn?"
He shrugged dismissively.
"What do you think happened?" she persisted.
"I know exactly what happened - nothing to do with us. Miana's already in her pod, and once you're on the ship, I'm not wasting another thought on this place."
"What are the corporate cryo pods like? Pretty classy, I bet."
Miana, Finn's fiancée and Hierochloe's Chief Procurement Officer, was from a social circle they would never have come into contact with - had it not been for Finn's easy charm and striking auburn hair.
"No different from the other pods. Equality is a vital part of the future Hierochloe's trying to build, Joy. On Gainsborough, we'll all be working together as one. Humanity -"
"Harmony, Hierochloe?" she teased. Her brother had never been one to spout slogans, but the chance to travel on the Ever Onward to colonise a new world had turned him into quite the company man.
"Well," he said, smiling wryly, "I like to believe so."
"And I believe in you." In him, and in the stars.
◆◆◆
The shuttle ride to the architect ship in orbit went by so fast that she caught only a glimpse of the Ever Onward before she was onboard and safe inside its white hull, where a decontamination chamber washed the last trace of Martian dust from her. Her clothes were taken - to be incinerated, they said, and she regretted wearing her best dress. Wearing only hospital gowns and slippers, she and countless other colonists were marched down corridors of polished steel and glass.
"Hold out your arm," a tech urged.
H-chips were brand-new tech, normally far too expensive for lab assistants, but as the manufacturer, Hierochloe insisted that all their employees have a chip. Finn had one, as did Joy's former boss, who loved showing off its functions - it's a key, credit card and entertainment system all rolled into one - so Joy couldn't help but be excited at getting her very own.
"A med-bracelet?" The tech frowned.
"Is that a problem?"
"I'm just surprised to see one. People with chronic illnesses don't usually make it past the first selection. Guess you must be pretty exceptional." He smiled. "Or they just needed to fill their quota of redheads."
She was too embarrassed to return his smile, electing to look down at her feet instead. Officially, she'd been selected based on her merits as a botanist. In reality, her test scores were firmly average and her position at her old lab a junior one. Finn had pulled strings to get her application accepted, and he had pulled hard.
The tech showed her into a cryo pod and as straps closed around her wrists and ankles, the ship's public announcement system droned on about nanites and vitrification. But with the shock of cold metal around her limbs came the shock of realisation, and she could barely listen, her mind occupied with maths. Five years in this sarcophagus. 1800 days, give or take, a little over 40,000 hours that would stand still for her and Finn, but on Mars - home - they'd keep ticking. The last book in her favourite series would be released. The final episode of Ghost Ship would air, and she wouldn't be there to watch it, wouldn't be there to discuss it during lunch break, wouldn't be there to see if her theories were right. Trivial and mundane, and suddenly so very important.
Finn leaned in to kiss her cheek and say goodbye, but there was something different about him. It was a subtle strain on his face; a glint in his eye that she'd never seen before and had never expected to see. He was afraid.
"But Finn," she said. "You're never a
fraid."
He arched an eyebrow, a hint of mirth returning to his hazel eyes. "I'm always afraid, Joy. That's why I do what I do... but now I wonder if I've made the right decision. You're only here because of me. I've tightened security, gone down every checklist, inspected every inch of the ship. Hell, I even made these eggheads explain how cryostasis works and what I can do to make sure it does work. But as soon as I go to sleep, it's out of my hands, and if something goes wrong, if something happens to you..."
"It'll be fine, Finn. The Ever Onward's amazing, greater than any architect ship before it - and I've heard the Head of Security isn't half-bad, either."
They shared a final smile and a final goodbye and then -
- and then Finn disappeared and through ice-brittle eyelashes, Joy saw only shadow and frosted glass. She tried to speak, eager to get confirmation that it was in fact all over, eager to breathe ocean air and feel Gainsborough's sweetgrass between her fingers.
The glass panel slid open, and the straps released her limbs. She tumbled forward, hitting the floor elbows-first. She coughed, gasping for air, but it was stale and cold and ran down her throat like razor wire.
This isn't how it's supposed to be. She might not have listened to the announcement, but she'd watched the cryostasis infomercials neurotically. A gentle awakening, they'd told her. First, the vitrified blood in her veins would be warmed, while nanites were swiftly deployed to attend to any damage. Then slow-acting drugs would be injected, allowing for a gradual and pleasant awakening (to the soothing sound of classical piano).
Even accounting for false advertising, Joy couldn't believe that metal-floor-to-the-face was the standard. She rolled over, her muscles burning, and blinking against flickering fluorescent light, all she could think about was Finn.
It'll be fine.
It wasn't fine. Not fine at all.
"Hey, you alive?" A slippered foot prodded her side.
◆◆◆
The many-storied cryo compartment, a moment ago brightly lit and clinical, lay in ruins, collapsed underneath buckled metal and rubble.
Three cryo pods to the right and I'd be buried too. Joy's heart beat rapidly, too fast for her still-turgid blood. Pressure over her chest flared into pain across her shoulders.
"Pretty fucking crazy, huh?" The man who had woken her paced in increasingly tight circles. Duncan, he'd introduced himself as, a software programmer from Kirkclair. His eyes were glassy beads in a pale, drawn face, and deep scratches ran down his forearms. His nose and fingers were blue with cold.
A comms panel on the wall glowed green. Joy pushed herself to her feet and stumbled toward it.
"Don't bother," Duncan said. "I've been trying for days. Nobody's listening."
She pressed the button anyway. "Hello?"
No response. She tried changing the settings, even ran diagnostics - but the system was fine. Whatever had happened to the ship, comms were still functional.
She reached for logic to quell her surging fear. The ship was massive, and Finn's cryo pod was near the bridge at the other end of the ship, possibly untouched by whatever disaster had befallen the Ever Onward. He might be busy organising a rescue party. He might be asleep and oblivious.
There were a thousand possibilities, ranging from the sensible to the far-fetched, and she took them all into her heart.
Anything, I'll believe anything, as long as it isn't the one problem we can't fix, Finn.
"Told you. They're all asleep. Or dead." Duncan's breath was hot on her neck, acrid with the aroma of medical alcohol.
She turned. He was close, too close, resting his hands against the wall behind her.
"Then who woke you?"
"The ship. It's emergency protocol - if there's a malfunction, the Ever Onward is programmed to rouse tech support. Of course, I'm not a crewmember. There'd be thousands more qualified than me, and you can bet the ship went down that list. The fact that I'm awake..." He bit his lip bloody.
"You've been awake for days, and you didn't wake anyone else before now?"
Duncan leaned in closer, his breath humid on her cheek, and maybe it would have been better to be alone in this grave of a ship after all.
"No." A strangled sound escaped him, and he wiped moisture from his eyes. "No, you're not the first."
He showed her the bodies, dumped behind a ruined cryo pod. The smell was enough to know she didn't want to look. Four pairs of white shoes, just like the ones she'd been issued. Soft shoes of pristine cotton, never meant to be worn outside the ship, and now never would be.
"The first one was already dead inside the cryo pod. A power surge must've fried its systems. Not long ago, though, because she was still mostly fresh." Again he made that strangled sound. "After that, I only tried waking the ones that I was sure were alive. Two died before they hit the floor. The fourth lived nearly five minutes. I thought he was all right; I thought he was going to be okay, but then he coughed and the blood wouldn't stop pouring and... and that was the end of that."
His cheeks were dewy with tears and that was good, much better than the strained face he'd worn before. This Duncan wasn't frightening, just frightened.
"That was three days ago. Took me that long to muster up the courage to try again."
Joy wiped fog from a pod's porthole. Sunken cheeks sagged around an open mouth. She made a small sound and turned away, but the dead were all around.
"That's the last living one." Duncan pointed to a pod containing an olive-skinned woman.
"We should wake her."
"No, no, no." Duncan grabbed her arm, holding her firmly back. His voice vibrated against her ear. "She'd only be a waste of oxygen. Besides, we don't need her. You'll do fine."
"Fine for what?" His fingers dug into her flesh. She squirmed, uncomfortable but too polite to object. If Finn were here, he'd tell her to punch Duncan in the face.
Or kick him in the nuts. Finn's voice, amused as ever, echoed in the back of her mind. The temptation to follow his recommendation was strong, but it seemed unwise to start a fight she might not win.
"Up there." He pointed a shaking finger towards the ceiling. A panel hung loose, revealing an air duct. "I couldn't even get my shoulders in there, but you, you're small. You'll fit."
◆◆◆
Metal walls boxed her in, tight and dusty and biting cold. The spaceport had smelled of cinnamon and the Ever Onward's speakers had played music and that was less than ten minutes ago, so how could she be crawling through a vent? That was not how her day was supposed to go. That was not the sort of person she was, and now her breath was becoming a wheeze.
"Let me down." Her voice bounced between the air duct walls. How far would the echo carry? Perhaps other survivors would hear her; maybe even a rescue team.
Or whoever did this to the ship.
"What's the problem?" Duncan eased her onto the floor and into his arms. His chin brushed her cheek, bristling with stubble and impatience.
"It's too narrow. I can't breathe." Her hair had come undone, tumbling over her shoulders in dust-matted locks. The same thick, ashen stuff coated her lips and clogged her throat. It was a dust only time could produce; the sort of dust she'd expect to find under Finn's couch, not in the ventilation system of a top of the line architect ship, and she realised at once what she should've been asking all along.
"How long have we been in stasis?"
Duncan tapped the comms panel, its display flickering as it accessed the ship's deeper systems.
The connection was weak, dropping and reconnecting as the power fluctuated, but the ship's internal computer still ticked away, fulfilling what functions it could - one of which was keeping count.
Every day, every hour, down to the nano-second. The ship had logged them all, faithfully recording time. The Ever Onward had launched on the fourth of May 1566, Standard Time, a week before Joy's twenty-third birthday.
The date on the screen, in mercilessly bright green, read 24/11/1685.
"That can't be right. The
power glitches must've thrown the clock off."
"Use your eyes, sweetheart. The walls are corroding. The cryo pod seals are decaying. This ship was built to withstand decades in space with minimal maintenance. Even if it crashed, it would take a long time for it to deteriorate this badly. At least fifty years, I'd say - so why not 119?"
"Someone would've come to rescue us. They wouldn't just have abandoned us."
Finding Finn was all that mattered. If he was all right, it didn't matter what year it was. And if he wasn't... then it really didn't matter. But an abandoned architect ship made no sense. The Ever Onward was too valuable to leave to drift or decompose. It was a mystery. A hundred year old mystery at this point, up there with legends like the Mary Celeste, Tunguska and the Luna-Six cannibal incident. The Ever Onward, the arc ship lost along with her crew and cargo of ten thousand frozen settlers. Joy and Finn, reduced to numbers, there to make people gasp at the enormity of the loss.
"That's assuming they could find us. I've been unable to access any information on our location. We could be anywhere." Duncan coughed and spat grey mucus on the floor. "What's important is getting out of here."
"The air duct might be blocked by debris. And if the door controls on this side are broken, the same might be the case for the controls on the other side." It sounded stupid even as she said it, and she raised her hands in meek apology before Duncan could yell at her. "Sorry. I'll try."
"Damn straight you will, and you might want to try adjusting your attitude too. Your lack of gratitude is unattractive."
Duncan grabbed her by the waist again, the heat of his palms feverish. The programmer had snapped. Perhaps when he first woke to inexplicable devastation, or when he opened the first cryo pod, or maybe when he'd seen the date. Joy's presence had briefly calmed him, but now his madness was returning, soaking the air with sweat and fear.
◆◆◆
A faint glow of emergency light strips guided her way through a sooty tangle of cables. Melted plastic curled around exposed copper wire and had dripped down to stud the floor with rubbery stalagmites. There had been a fire, a long time ago. Had the ship's automatic systems extinguished it, or had an actual person done the work?