Incident on the Hennepin

by Eric Nixon



  Incident on the Hennepin

  a short story set in 2492

  by

  Eric Nixon

  Copyright 2011 Eric Nixon. All rights reserved.

  Cover by Eric Nixon

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  The door to the office chimed as it opened. Card sighed and frowned. There was only one person who had the access to enter without being let in. With a finger, Card touched the corner of the dozen of floating screens that encircled him and slid them to one side, revealing his boss. He thought, Ugh, I’d rather be face-deep in hundreds of screens of work, but instead said, “Hey, Tompkin, what’s up?”

  Tompkin leaned over the desk and tried to peer at the jumble of screens that were squinched over to one side. “What are you doing?”

  I hate it when he answers a question with a question. Card shrugged, “The mid-level energy absorbers malfunctioned, so I dispatched some bots to fix it.” This is weird. Tompkin never comes down here to check on me. I wonder what’s going on. Card asked again, “Why, is something up?”

  Tompkin turned away from the screens and his eyes connected with Card’s. His expressionless face made Card wonder, does this guy ever smile? Tompkin asked, “Did you hear about the distress call we received?”

  I’ve been working all day, how would I have heard about a distress call? I swear, sometimes this guy doesn’t think. His ready smile camouflaged his thoughts, “Nope, sorry.” He motioned to the screens, “I’ve been working on stuff all day and haven’t been anywhere near the bridge.” The space station they worked on did get the occasional emergency call, due to their location mid-way between the outer Fringe planets and the empty space between the galactic arms of the Milky Way, so it wasn’t unheard of.

  “If you had been near the bridge, you would have known that the luxury liner Hennepin, was struck by some sort of energy wave earlier today, which crippled many of its systems. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, you know, that giant ship that brings rich people on tours of adventurous, and ‘dangerous,’ space? It should be docking within the next few minutes, and I’m going to need you to help the rest of the team getting their computer system back online.”

  Oh come on! I’m already here late working on the absorbers...he paused and frowned with thought. “Wait, their computers are off-line? That’s almost impossible. I can’t imagine the amount of energy it got hit with to do that. What about the energy absorbers? They should have been able to take anything short of a supernova.” He thought some more and called out, “Treadway! What are the chances of the computer system on the Hennepin going down?”

  A cheerful-looking hologram of a person appeared by his desk and replied, “Sorry Card, but unless the ship had been completely obliterated, there is absolutely no chance of that happening. Even if 99% of the ship had been destroyed, the ship’s computer would still be able to function normally.”

  Card nodded at the physical representation of the space station’s computer system, “Thanks, Treadway, I thought so. That’s all.”

  “If you ever need anything, just ask. I’m always here,” and the hologram vanished.

  Card looked at his boss, “See? Even Treadway says it’s impossible. How could have something knocked out the ship’s computer? Computers don’t work that way. They can self-repair. Nothing can just ‘knock them out.’ Did it pick up something weird out there? What if…”

  He held up his hands, “Whoa, there. When the ship arrives, you can do all of your tech-y stuff and fix away until your heart’s content. I’ll have the rest of the crew get started on the Hennepin when it arrives. In the meantime your first priority it to make sure the energy absorbers on the station get functioning again. We’re going to come around to the daylight edge of DeMog soon and we’ll need that extra solar power to assist the Hennepin. Once you’re done, get down to the dock. Wait, what’s that?” Tompkin pointed to the screens, which were now blinking red.

  Card thought, Shuck. I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. He stabbed at several screens in rapid succession and shook his head. “Something went wrong with the bots. They’re all down.”

  Tompkin’s brows furrowed. “How could that have happened?”

  “I don’t know. It looks like they all shorted out or something.” He laughed, “Maybe the Hennepin is cursed or something, and it’s bringing its bad computer mojo to us.”

  Tompkin smiled at Card. “Well, if the bots are out of commission, then it looks like you’re going on a little spacewalk to fix those absorbers. Hopefully it won’t take you long.” He shrugged, “Actually it doesn’t matter. Either way, report to the dock when you’re done.” Tompkin left the room.

  Card thought, wow, what an awful day.

  ****

  Ten minutes later Card was suited up in an airlock and opening the outer door. Sound bled out to silence as he was briefly buffeted by the air rushing past, which vented to the vacuum. He fired the jets on his thin suit, maneuvered past the doorway, turned downwards, and floated along the towering side of the station. A screen in his helmet showed his target, the faulty power absorbers, a kilometer and a half away. While he glided along, he had the suit find the malfunctioning bots, which were located where they should be, ringed around the absorber.

  Everyone in the maintenance department hated going outside, but Card actually liked it. It was the one place where you could be alone with your thoughts and enjoy the view completely undisturbed. That is, unless Tompkin is yelling in my ear, which, thankfully he’s not today. He’s probably occupied with the arrival of the liner. He started to look for the Hennepin, but realized it was three kilometers behind him, up near the top of the station. Oh well, I’ll see it when I’m on my way back.

  He looked to the right and saw a thin crescent of light spreading along the sharp edge of the gas giant they were gravitationally bound to. Sunrise was coming soon; one of several the station’s residents saw each day as they orbited the planet faster than it rotated. DeMog was half the size of Jupiter and a tenth as interesting to look at, as it glowed in countless shades of a color that those on the station often referred to as “pale peach.” The only exception was at sunrise when the rays from the nearby star refracted off the ammonia ice crystals in the upper atmosphere just right, creating a beautiful rainbow effect. DeMog’s location, perched on the edge of the galactic arm, meant there wasn’t much else to look at; most of the nearby view was taken up by the starless blank patch of space between the tightly wound arms of the galaxy. Still, spending time free-floating before the gas giant always deeply impressed Card.

  *BlipBlip*

  Card looked down at the quickly approaching energy absorbers and slowed his suit. Knowing that Tompkin could be watching his camera feed, he said, “Approaching first grouping of faulty bots…they appear to be in good condition, physically. I’ll do more of an inspection when I’m finished repairing the absorbers, which are now coming into view. Yup, it looks like a good amount of dust clogged them up.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger together and spread them apart, which opened a floating computer screen before him. He pressed a button causing his suit to rotate and hold position in front of the unit. “Ok, let’s get to work.”

  ****

  An hour later, Card was done and heading back towards the airlock towing a string of malfunctioning repair bots in his wake. His suit was on auto-pilot so he turne
d his attention to the sun-sparkled view of the gas giant that looked like waves of iridescent ribbons steaming in the light of the nearby star. Oh wow. This sort of makes up for having to go outside and do a bot’s job. He thought of the wall of screens he spent most of his day in front of. Ok, this view more than makes up for it.

  *BlipBlip*

  He reluctantly tore his eyes away from the planet to his left and looked up at the doorway to the airlock he was approaching. Further ahead, straight up the side of the station, he could see the bottom of a long hull sticking out from the edge to past his field of vision above his head. Wow. That ship’s huge. Hopefully they’ve got everything fixed by now so I can sign off from work and just relax. I bet Tompkin’s already left for the day and is at the pub, into his fifth already, so I could probably just go. He thought better of it, well, I should find out how things are going. We’ll see.

  Two minutes later he was inside, clear of the airlock, and in the staging room removing his suit. He thumbed open a screen to check his messages, but the screen was blank. Uh, what? He slashed it out with a finger and tried again, but got the same response.

  He said, “Treadway! What’s going on with the messaging system?”

  Nothing.

  “Treadway?”

  Silence.

  What the hell? Card went over to the physical screen on the wall by the door and hit a button. It displayed: WARNING! General system failure. Solar Union link lost. Manual computing only. Life support systems operational.

  He stared at the message blankly. How…? That can’t happen! Shuck!

  Card stuffed the spacesuit in the locker and raced back to the maintenance office. It was empty, which under normal circumstances would be surprising, since there was always someone there, but he suspected everyone was dealing with either the station’s computer or the Hennepin. He stopped and thought, Ok. I need to assume everyone knows about the computer failure. Let me finish my work with the absorbers and I’ll find the others and help out. Man, what a day.

  It took several minutes, but he eventually figured out how to use the manual system, something he had never seen, or had a reason to use, before. He rechecked the energy absorbers, filed a report, and ran a diagnostic on the bots. It reported that they all were working properly. Huh, that’s odd. Just to be sure, he re-tested all twelve of them to make sure they worked without issue. Confounded, he thought, this is really strange. They’re all running perfectly now, but they were non-responsive earlier. He filed a report on how the bots are working fine. When he had finished everything with the absorbers and the bots, he hurried towards the main dock, seventy stories up.

  As he walked, something seemed out of place; a general unease that slowly crept over him like a wary chill, but he was unable to figure out what specifically was causing it. The corridor he was in crossed another and he paused, looking down each of the wide hallways, which were empty and silent. That’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this section of the station empty. This is usually a busy intersection. He dismissed the thought. Everyone must be busy handling the computer emergency…or at the Hennepin.

  Eventually, the hallway emptied out to a wide-open area with a popular café. The sounds of the mellow and trendy music comforted him. He walked into the Night & Day Café and stopped. The chill he felt before turned into a lump of ice that sank in his belly. This isn’t right.

  The silent emptiness began to crowd around and close in on Card’s troubled mind. Not a soul was in the café. It wasn’t just empty, but recently deserted; most of the tables had plates of food in various stages of being consumed. He reached down and held his hand above a cup of coffee on the table beside him. It’s still hot. Like, fresh-hot.

  His skin puckered and the hair on his arms stood on end. His eyes darted around, hoping to find someone hiding off in a corner and discover that, ha ha, it was all just a big joke on Card. Instead, his eyes landed on several overturned chairs at the far end of the cafe. He walked quickly, never breaking eye contact, out of fear it would disappear, or upright itself.

  Out of habit, he spoke. “Computer...,” his voice spooking him slightly. “What happened here?”

  No answer.

  It’s still out. How? It’s seriously impossible for this to happen.

  “Computer!”

  The only response was that of his heart beating faster.

  He got to the far end of the cafe. Here, all of the tables and chairs were overturned, as if people were trying to get away from something...Card’s eyes were drawn up to the large window facing the hallway. Hand and fist prints were smudged hard into the window, like primitive cave paintings left by a prehistoric civilization in the last moments before a cataclysmic event. He followed the trail down to the supporting edge of one large panel where something was sticking out.

  A memory came to Card. Those are the small holes I drilled in the window because the owner of the cafe asked me to find a way to vent the aroma of the food into the hallway to drum up more business. He turned away to avoid seeing what he feared would be there. I drilled maybe ten holes on the side of each large window panel. Oh no, I can’t look.

  But he did. He couldn’t help it. Deep inside he needed to know and his eyes obeyed showing what his heart knew, but refused to believe. Maybe he was trying to prove his worst fears wrong, but instead it was worse. Much worse.

  Each of the holes had something stumpy stuck in them. He shut his eyes, and ran back through the empty cafe towards the exit. Once in the hallway, he didn’t know which way to go. He had come from the hallway to the right and knew no one was down there. His best chance was going to the left. There are over 25,000 people on this station. There has got to be someone here. He thought for a moment and an idea struck him. Security. There’s got to be someone in security, and if there isn’t, there’ll at least be footage of what happened. That, and weapons. The idea of a large blaster in his hand made him feel considerably more secure, so he turned to the left and started to run…

  …And looked up at the cafe’s windows, as he passed, where the tips of severed fingers pointed damningly at him from the vent holes. One hole was empty, and the glass to one side had had been shattered with bloody cracks angrily angling outward like jagged lightning bolts. He turned his head, stared straight ahead, and ran.

  He passed through a large lobby area that was normally filled with at least a hundred people who were normally milling about waiting for someone, or just passing time until they had to be somewhere else. It was empty. The only noise emanated from Card’s feet slapping against the floor.

  Several minutes later, he arrived at the security office. He was not surprised to find that it was also vacant, but at least Card felt a little calmer now. It’s time to get some answers.

  He sat down at a console and several screens popped up in front of him. Every one displayed the same message he saw in the airlock staging room. Out of desperation, he tried again, “Computer?”

  Nothing.

  What the hell happened? I was only outside for an hour. It’s not like 25,000 people just vanished.

  He read the log screen and got a slightly clearer, yet still somewhat muddled, picture of what happened. The first sign of something odd came in from the station’s welcoming team that greeted the Hennepin at the dock. No one from the Hennepin met them.

  Standard security protocol kicked in and an armed security team arrived at the dock to escort the, now nervous, welcome team. Due to the size of the Hennepin, additional security forces were called. At first, they reported nothing. No sign of anyone. Soon after, the security team’s BarnardBots, or DeathBots as they’re more commonly referred to, stopped working. Then, the security and welcome teams stopped reporting.

  Card paused to think. BarnardBots are, short of a supernova, unstoppable. For them to “stop working” is on par with the impossibility of a ship’s computer not working. Either all of these reports are lying, or something cataclysmically awful is happening.

  He looked ba
ck to the log. The second to the last entry was a reading of an energy wave that slowly swept across the station. A split-screen readout showed that as the energy signature passed through, the lives of those on board were extinguished. All 25,000 people were dead.

  The last entry on the log was of a single human life form entering the station from an outside airlock. Card.

  A deep-rooted sense of fear rose in Card. Not the quick flare up of panic, but the slow freeze of uncertainty, the heavy dawning of complete helplessness, the painful paranoia of utter loneliness, and the certainty that sometime today, in these clothes he had put on just like any other day, he would die.

  His mind shut down and he stared at the current image of the locations of those (living) on the station. The entire outline of the large station was black, with the exception of the one tiny red dot showing Card. His hand lowered and his finger accidently touched the video log screen and it flared to life, jarring him from his stupor. Screams erupted from a thousand different video feeds at once, creating a cacophony of a pure hellish nightmare of fear, terror, and pain that was beyond what even the most twisted, deranged, and damaged mind could image.

  Just as quickly as it started, it ended as his finger stabbed the stop button, but the screams reverberated and echoed in his head, and would remain there, bouncing between his ears, until the moment he died.

  He sat there for a moment, as the feeling of hopeless, bleak, despair sank deep into his stomach. He felt a massive panic attack begin to boil up, until some impossibly calmer portion of his mind commanded him to close his eyes, breathe deeply, and think. Now is not the time to freak out. I’m alive. That’s a good thing and means I can still do something. What next?

  He looked at the screens in front of him and said, “Computer. I need to know if the energy wave is on the station, and if so, where it is.”

  Not surprisingly, it didn’t respond. He muttered, “Ok. It was worth a shot.”