“Got it!” He stepped back from the hatch, his prize dangling within his reach, but he did not take hold of it. Instead, he made his way across the room, holding the rod and its cargo in front of him. The object looked like a hunk of metal, its edges worn smooth, and it glistened under the bay lights as though damp. Condensation, Joffe thought. The object had been floating in the deep cold of space, and there would be moisture in the bay’s air despite the environmental controls; all the more reason to seal his find safely away.
Joffe had prepared well, and a mobile containment unit sat open and ready, its sturdy wheels locked into place. Carefully, Joffe eased the object in through the doors, then he worked his way back along the rod and released the trigger. The object fell into the container with a dull thud, and he smiled. He withdrew the rod, placing it on the floor, then strode up to the containment unit and flicked the red switch on its side. With a faint hum, the thick metal doors drew closed then sealed with a series of staccato clicks. A blue light flashed on the unit’s control panel: it was ready to begin its decontamination cycle.
Maybe I should report this first, Joffe thought. But he could do that later, couldn’t he? He tapped the control panel to begin the process, and immediately the unit whirred into life, vibrating beneath his hand as the cycle began. Joffe exhaled noisily and rolled his shoulders, but the plastic suit hampered even that movement. He had an urge to pull the damned thing off, but he looked back at the open hatch; his work wasn’t done yet.
He patted the containment unit, then turned away and took out his wrench.
***
Something beeped while Joffe was tightening the last nut on the hatch cover, and he glanced over at the containment unit. It beeped again, insistent. “Give me a second,” Joffe complained. He gave the nut a final check then stowed his wrench in his belt and crossed the room. The unit beeped a third time, and the display panel showed that it had completed its decontamination cycle.
Joffe flicked the switch to open the doors, but an error message flashed on the screen:
CONTAINMENT UNIT LOCKED - ID CONFIRMATION REQUIRED.
Joffe hesitated. He’d forgotten that once it was in use, the unit needed his name and personal passcode before it would open. Maybe he should leave this to someone else, someone who was paid to deal with this sort of thing. But his lips curled in a wicked grin, and he began typing.
On Parkins’ first day on the bridge, he’d left his passcode on a slip of paper at his workstation. Joffe hadn’t meant to pry, but the code was in full view and somehow it had stuck in his mind. Unlike some, Joffe wasn’t the kind to play pranks, but this was an opportunity to teach Parkins a valuable lesson about security. No harm, no foul, he thought. If using Parkins’ code caused trouble, he’d own up. Eventually.
But he must’ve made a mistake because another message flashed up:
PASSCODE NOT RECOGNIZED.
The unit beeped.
“Don’t start that again,” Joffe said. He pulled off his right glove and typed the number again, and this time he was rewarded with a satisfying clatter as the unit unlocked. It took only a moment for the doors to open, and Joffe reached inside—making sure to use his gloved left hand—and took hold of the foreign object.
He weighed it in the palm of his hand. It was definitely metal, perhaps an alloy, and aside from a few scores and scratches it was smooth. It didn’t appear to be damp anymore—the decontamination process would’ve taken care of that—but it was stained with patches of a blue-green color.
“Some kind of corrosion?” Joffe asked. But metal needed oxygen to oxidize, so where had it come from—another ship? “A planet, more likely,” he decided. The metal seemed too shapeless to be from any formal structure. It was more like a chunk of magma, perhaps ejected from a planet after an asteroid strike.
He placed it back in the containment unit and closed the doors. He’d see what they made of it in the lab. And he might as well take it there himself. He had no reason to hurry back to his station on the bridge.
I guess that’s the excitement over, he thought. Job done.
He removed his other glove then peeled back the hood from his hazmat suit. Finally, he took off his respirator and took a gulp of air. “That’s better.”
He laid his mask and gloves atop the mobile containment unit then bent down to unlock its wheels, but he caught sight of the cleaning tool and rods on the floor. “Goddamned mess,” he sighed. It would only take him a few minutes to dismantle the carbon fiber rods and stow them in the cabinet, but the sooner he headed out, the quicker he could get out of the hazmat suit. The hell with it, he thought. I’ll tidy up tomorrow. Then he unlocked the wheels and pushed the unit toward the door.
CHAPTER 6
Captain Coverack sat on the small metal chair in the narrow cabin that had once belonged to Stephen Tibbs. In his hand was a small tablet computer of a type that was popular with the crew. Strictly speaking, no one was supposed to attach a personal device to the ship’s network, but the rule wasn’t enforced; the tablets could deliver a range of games, books and movies, and they helped the crew to pass the time.
Tibbs had personalized his tablet with a few colorful stickers on the back, and when Coverack tapped the screen, a photo of Tibbs appeared, his arm around a young woman. The photo must’ve been taken a few years before The Pharaon left Earth. Tibbs was young, his expression full of hope, and he was sharing a smile with the woman—a smile full of warmth and carefree affection.
Who was she? From the look in her eyes, she must have been his partner, but Tibbs had never mentioned her. Coverack studied the photo and noticed the young woman wore a badge on her sleeve: the distinctive silver emblem of the Galactic Research Division.
She must’ve been something else, Coverack thought. The GRD were an elite; only the brightest were accepted into their ranks. No wonder Tibbs had looked at her with such pride in his eyes.
Coverack pushed the thought away and swiped his hand across the screen to activate the interface, half expecting the device to be locked, but the display responded, showing him the main directory. He raised his eyebrows and opened the journal folder, then tapped the first entry.
Tibbs appeared on the screen, fresh-faced, excited, and self-conscious all at the same time. “We’re on our way,” he started. “It’s so great to be part of this mission. The Pharaon is an awesome ship with a crew of over eighty men and women. Plus, we’re carrying five hundred passengers—settlers bound for a new home, whole families traveling together. They’ll spend most of the journey in the sleep pods aboard the twin landing craft, then when we get to—”
Coverack stopped the playback and skipped forward to a more recent entry.
In this recording, Tibbs looked a little paler, but otherwise much the same. “Hi, Catrina. I was thinking about the day you set off on your mission and left me back on Earth. In a way, I’ve been following in your footsteps ever since. But it’s time for our paths to diverge, my love. While you go ahead to explore new worlds, my route will take me to a planet that’s already been—”
Again, Coverack stopped the playback. This stuff was hardly worth encrypting. He scrolled to the most recent entries then picked a file that was about a month old.
This time, Tibbs looked more familiar, his hair slightly tousled and the suggestion of stubble on his chin. His skin had that greasy sheen that developed during a long tour of duty, and his eyes glittered not with hope, but with anxiety. “I hope everything’s all right, Catrina. I haven’t…I haven’t heard from you in a while. I guess it goes with the territory. Even so…it’s difficult. Send me a message as soon as you get this. Please.”
The screen flickered, then the next entry began playing automatically.
“I don’t how much time will pass before you get this message, my love, but here I am.” Tibbs sniffed and dabbed his eye with the back of his hand. “It’s been months since we lost the signal from your ship. Comms said you were out of range, but I know different. Something’s wrong, I�
�m sure of it, otherwise you’d have found a way. But I’ll keep looking for you, my love. There must be some trace, some sign that will tell me where you are. I’ll keep searching. I’ll get this message to you somehow, no matter how—”
Coverack closed the file, unable to look any longer at Tibbs’ pathetic expression. What had the man expected? He must’ve known that he wouldn’t see his partner again for many years. Her mission would certainly be longer than his, and fraught with danger. Only a fool would hold on for so long; a fool or a man driven by some dark need, some deeply buried vein of desperation. And who knew what such a man might do?
A chill crept across Coverack’s skin, and his finger hovered over the tablet’s screen before touching down on the most recent log entry.
The man who appeared was a ghostly parody of Tibbs’ former self; his face drawn and lined with worry, his mouth twitching, and his dark eyes empty, devoid of all emotion.
“He was a wreck,” Coverack whispered. “Why didn’t I notice?”
As if in answer, Tibbs’ voice echoed from the tablet’s tiny speaker, “I wonder who’s watching this. Perhaps it’s the captain. I hope so. I need you to hear this, Captain. I want you to know how sorry I am.” He paused, his eyes darting from side to side. “By now, you’ve probably discovered what I’ve done, but you won’t understand. So here goes.” He took a breath. “I found a signal, a distress call from my wife’s ship. I should’ve reported it, but I didn’t. I took a different course of action, you might say. I couldn’t leave her out there, and there was no one else who could help, no other ships in this sector. So I reprogrammed the navcom. I switched out the target, ignoring the beacon and locking onto the distress call instead. It wasn’t easy, but I knew what I was doing and I covered my tracks.” Tibbs closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they glistened with tears. “All for nothing. When we neared the source of the distress signal, I finally understood the truth. Her ship is gone. Nothing left but debris and empty space. The signal came from a buoy, perhaps launched as a last resort. And I’ve dragged hundreds of people across the galaxy for no reason, perhaps endangering them all.” Tibbs hesitated, his red-rimmed eyes staring out from screen. “After all, whatever happened to my dear Catrina’s ship may still be lying in wait for you. I hope not, Captain. But whatever happens, I’m sorry.”
Then the screen froze, leaving Coverack to stare at Tibbs’ final, sad smile.
CHAPTER 7
Joffe scooped up a lump of egg with his plastic fork and shoveled it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, trying to recall the taste of real eggs. This synthetic stuff wasn’t right, he decided, but it wasn’t bad. The bacon too, was kind of spongy, but he’d gotten to like it. A little hot sauce on the side of his plate, and his day was getting off to good start. He scratched the palm of his right hand absentmindedly as he looked around the room, and decided that breakfast in the officers’ mess was pretty much the highlight of his day.
“Hey, Nathan, how’s it going?” Parkins sat down next to him and placed his tray on the table, knocking Joffe’s arm.
Joffe grimaced and rubbed his elbow. “Watch it, you jerk!”
“Sorry, man. I’m starved.” Parkins picked up his fork, then his face fell. “Shoot! I forgot my drink.” He stood and offered Joffe a hesitant smile. “Can I get you a cup of something?”
Joffe considered this for a moment, then his expression softened. “Sure, I’ll have a cup of brown.”
“Okay. You want creamer?”
“No way,” Joffe said. “That stuff gives me cramps. I like my brown, black.”
“Got it.”
He ate another lump of egg and watched Parkins retreating toward the drink dispensers. The guy wasn’t so bad really. He was a fish out of water, promoted beyond his competence, that was all. Was I like that once? he wondered. But when he watched Parkins return with two paper cups and a hopeful smile on his young features, he pushed the thought away. Some people were eager to please; Joffe had never been one of them.
“There you go,” Parkins said, sitting down and sliding a cup toward Joffe. “One cup of brown, almost hot.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip and Parkins followed suit.
“Tastes like tea, today, doesn’t it?” Parkins asked.
Joffe shook his head. “No idea. Sure as hell isn’t coffee, I’ll tell you that.”
The two men studied their drinks until Parkins broke the silence. “You’re early today. I’m usually done by the time you show up.”
“Ever wonder if I do that on purpose?” Joffe replied, but when Parkins’ face fell, he relented. “Just kidding, Parkins. I’m a heavy sleeper is all. Well, usually, anyhow.” He let out a grunt and scratched at his hand. “Not last night, though. Didn’t sleep worth a damn.”
“Stress?”
Joffe almost laughed. “In my job?” He looked away and carried on eating, but Parkins persisted.
“What then?”
“Nothing really. It’s just…” He showed Parkins the palm of his hand, and he couldn’t help but scratch at the red, flaking skin. “It’s just an allergy or something, but it itches like hell.”
Parkins’ eyebrows drew together. “Did you show that to someone?”
“I just showed you, didn’t I?” Joffe rubbed at his right forearm.
“No. I mean, someone in medical. You need to get that looked at, man.”
“Maybe later.” Joffe picked up his cup. “Right now I need to finish my brown. I’d hate for it to get slightly less tepid.” And the two men shared a smile.
***
The bridge was quiet again and Joffe looked over at Parkins. “Looks like it’s just you and me again, huh?”
“Yup,” Parkins replied. “Skeleton crew, that’s us.”
Joffe drummed his fingers on his console then inclined his head toward the XO. “Any idea what’s going on in there?”
“Maybe something to do with this new course correction.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” Joffe frowned. “What’s the problem?”
Parkins glanced over his shoulder before replying, then he lowered his voice. “Between you and me, we’re way off course—I mean, seriously headed in the wrong direction.” He paused, his eyes twinkling. “The captain’s mad as hell. He had Taylor and the first officer pull an all-nighter to put it right.”
Joffe let out a low whistle. “This ship’s going to hell.”
“Tell me about it.” Parkins shook his head. “You know what? When you were out, the captain hauled me into the XO. He was just about ready to lose his shit.”
Joffe raised his eyebrows. “Really? He wasn’t trying to pin the nav problem on you, was he?”
“No way. It was some bullshit about a power outage in the lab. He was blathering on about some kind of container, and didn’t I know the protocol for foreign objects.”
Joffe gave a guilty start. He’d meant to set the record straight about the passcode and the containment unit, but when he’d arrived in the lab, there’d been no one there, so he’d just left the unit for them to find.
“I told him I hadn’t been anywhere near the lab,” Parkins went on. “I was at my station all day, and the logs prove it.”
“About that,” Joffe said, but Parkins wasn’t listening.
“Look, Nathan, it’s here in black and white.” Parkins tapped his console, and his face fell.
“Listen—” Joffe began, but Parkins cut him off with a look.
“My console’s dead.”
“What?”
“I think…” Parkins said, “I think we just lost the nav system.”
Joffe stared at him; the man’s face was white as a sheet. “Relax. It’s probably just another power outage. Give it a second.”
But Parkins was already out of his seat and heading to the navigation officer’s station. He tapped the main nav console. “This one’s dead too.”
“Let me see.” Joffe stood and went to Parkins’ side. Sure enough, the whole console was dark. Joffe ra
n his hands over the control panel, but there was no response. He grunted. “Must be a loose connection or something.” He knelt down and opened the access panel, then touched each module in turn, checking they were pushed home.
“I don’t think you should do that,” Parkins said. “I’ll go fetch someone.”
“It’s fine,” Joffe replied. “And you heard what they said—they don’t want to be disturbed.”
“But this is an emergency.” Parkins’ voice was high and unsteady. “I really think we should—”
“Stay calm,” Joffe interrupted. He replaced the panel and stood slowly, his brow creased in thought. “Sometimes it’s the simplest things that get overlooked, like a module coming free from its socket.” He tried the control panel again, but as before, the console remained stubbornly dark.
“Aw hell!” Parkins moaned. “You left dirty fingermarks all over the screen. Taylor will know we touched it.” He set to wiping the panel with his sleeve. “What is this, oil? It won’t come off.”
“Sorry.” Joffe rubbed his hands on his uniform. “It’s this thing on my hand. It makes me sweat.”
“Still? Didn’t you see the MO? Man, I told you to go this morning.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll go in a minute. We just need to figure this out.”
“No, you’ll go now.”
“But, the nav—”
“Forget it,” Parkins interrupted. “I’m going to call the XO. I won’t tell them you opened the panel, but it’ll be easier to keep your name out of it if you’re not here when they come back.”
Joffe heaved a sigh. “All right. You win, Parkins. I’ll see you later.”
Parkins acknowledged him a nod, then Joffe turned and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 8
Coverack looked around the officers assembled in his XO and saw pain and confusion. “Tibbs let us all down,” he said firmly, “but we need to move on. We’re experiencing system failures and power outages across the ship, and disturbingly, we’ve found inconsistencies in our audit trail that suggest someone covering their tracks. If these issues are connected, there could be someone aboard who intends, for whatever reason, to disrupt our mission.”
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