Beth nodded. “Good work, Lauryn,” she managed to say. “Looks like you’re getting somewhere.”
Lauryn said nothing, and Beth returned to her seat.
Later she headed down to Corridor Three, one that led between the bridge and their dorms. At the second junction she looked round. There was no one there, and all the cameras seemed to be pointing in other directions. One wall panel was loose, and behind it she found a small pad.
It held a message from Lauryn. This spot free from cameras, it said. Don’t wait here too long. Am sending distress signal and have masked it from sensors. Looking through cargo manifest for item – nothing yet.
So that was it. The signal was broadcasting; they were committed. For a moment Beth felt light-headed with the risk they’d taken, but she forced herself still. She wrote: Good work. Keep looking.
Then she hid the pad back behind the panel and carried on down the corridor as if nothing had happened.
They communicated like that for the next two days. Lauryn kept searching for whatever it was Captain Murdoch might have wanted, but since they had no idea what it could be, it was hard to know where to look.
They tried to figure out Ship, too. Why had it done this? Lauryn checked its fundamental security controls. They seemed intact – no viruses, no infiltration. That means someone ordered it to do this, she wrote.
Beth didn’t know if that was better or worse.
And so they carried on trying to undermine Ship, and Beth maintained the illusion of being the captain while her crew fell apart. Arnold became obsessed with fixing the third Gizmo, coming to bed late every night, covered in grease and falling into exhausted sleep. Vihaan’s easy charm frayed, and he started snarling at the others. And Lucille was frequently found staring into the distance, with tears on her cheeks.
Even Mikkel, usually unflappable, became stressed. His sensor readings made no sense. Shadow signals, ghost images, strange echoes of messages he hadn’t sent – every time he came to the console it seemed to be a new kind of chaos. He sweated and struggled, worried that this might be some form of attack.
Beth watched him, and desperately wanted to explain, but didn’t dare. When he asked for help, Lauryn misled him with vague technical answers about the work she was doing. When he came to Beth, she brushed him off. So he sat in misery with the others.
One week after the visit to the inspection hatch, Beth headed up to the bridge on her new route past Junction Two. She checked the panel, but there was no pad there today.
She reached the bridge and stopped.
Vihaan was there. That was the first thing she noticed. And he was in her chair – the captain’s chair. He was sitting quite casually, with his legs crossed, swinging slightly from side to side. In her chair.
Everyone else was there too. Arnold stood with his arms folded and an expression of grim satisfaction. Lauryn was staring down at her feet. Mikkel was looking away from her, towards Vihaan, towards what Vihaan was holding in his hands.
The pad.
Ship’s hologram hovered in the air next to him.
27
Consequences
Of course the game was up. But she had to pretend it wasn’t, so Beth said, “Get out of the chair,” as if she still had some cards to play. Her voice sounded crisp and confident, used to being obeyed. She’d learned how to do the voice, at least.
Vihaan didn’t move. “It was Mikkel who discovered it.” His voice was slow, triumphant. He’d won and he was taking his time to enjoy the moment. “Your betrayal, I mean. He realised that you’ve been signalling to the Scrapers to come and get us. You and Lauryn.”
Lauryn didn’t move.
Mikkel looked miserable. He glanced at Beth briefly, but she found that she couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Once Mikkel realised, he knew that you must be in on it too. So he did the right thing and came to me. We talked to Ship. Ship told us about the conversation you and Lauryn had in the inspection hatch, away from the cameras. And that you’d started walking back a different route to your dorm. And how you often seemed to stop at Junction Two, where the cameras couldn’t see you.”
He waved the pad. “And so.”
Beth said nothing.
“I’m disappointed in Lauryn,” he continued. “But she always followed your lead, didn’t she? You could always make her do whatever you wanted. I don’t really blame her. I blame you.”
He stood up. His authority over the bridge was complete. His voice was harsh and rigid.
“When you were only incompetent,” he said, “we could work round you. When you were cowardly, we could cover you. Ship put you in command for who knows what reason, but somehow we survived. But this –” he waved towards Lauryn’s console with his pad – “this is treason.” He hissed the word like a curse, like a slap to her face.
“What did they offer you to betray us?” he demanded. “What? What do you get for selling us out, for selling our families out?”
“Vihaan,” Beth said, keeping her voice calm, “this is not what you think.”
“This is exactly what I think!” he roared. He hurled the pad at her and she threw up her hands; it clattered off her arms and on to the floor. “This is you inviting anyone in range to come and get us! We’ve seen Lauryn’s work! You were going to leave beacons!”
“I was trying to save us—”
“Save us?” he spat. “Save us from what?”
“From Ship!” shouted Lauryn.
Vihaan turned to her, astonished. Everyone else turned too, except Ship. It didn’t turn. It stayed exactly where it was, looking at Beth.
“It’s Ship that’s lying to us!” snapped Lauryn. “It’s Ship that put us here! It’s been lying to us since we Woke up and it’s still lying to us now!”
Vihaan stared at Lauryn as if she’d grown an extra head.
Ship said, “Lauryn Hopper, you are upset. It is possible that you have been misled.”
“Ship can’t lie,” said Vihaan, as if to a small, confused child. “Do you have any idea how many layers of protocol protection there are between Ship’s core and the outside world?”
“Sixteen,” said Lauryn promptly. “There are sixteen layers of checks and counter-checks, designed to make sure that Ship cannot violate its core principles.”
“Then … then what the hell?” Vihaan seemed taken aback by the girl’s certainty. He was ready for betrayal, but not insanity.
“It’s true,” said Beth. “I found this.” She reached into her pocket and handed him the scrap of paper. At first she thought he wasn’t even going to look at it; but then he did, and appeared even more confused.
“This? What is this?”
“It’s a note I wrote to myself the first time I was Woken,” said Beth. “Before this time. Ship has Woken us up before.”
Vihaan’s face writhed as if he was about to explode with frustrated fury. “This is … madness,” he muttered. He shook his head and drew himself up tall. “Beth McKay, I hereby relieve you of your duties as a starship captain due to … to mental incapacity. You will be placed into Sleep mode until such time as Ship is able to contact the proper authorities.”
“Vihaan, this is a mistake,” said Beth. She spoke calmly, but tried to force her will on him, tried to make him see. “This is not madness. We have other evidence. My diary … Lauryn’s pad! And the adults, where were the adults—”
“Stop talking!” he snapped. “Ship! Recognise my command!”
“Acknowledged,” said Ship. “Preparing Beth McKay for mandatory Sleep.”
“No!” shouted Beth. “No, you’ve got to believe me! I promise, I’m not making this up—”
“The stars were wrong,” interrupted Lucille. She spoke in a half-awake voice, as if nothing happening on the bridge was important.
The others turned.
“What?” asked Arnold.
“The stars were wrong.” She gazed towards the back of the bridge. “All the stars were wrong on the navigation charts; we co
uldn’t figure it out.”
Vihaan gaped at her.
Mikkel nodded. “It’s because the times were wrong,” he said. “That’s why they looked wrong to us. Because Ship was telling us the wrong time.”
He nodded in satisfaction, like someone completing a tricky puzzle. “And the Jump count was wrong, and the Sleep records. I noticed them during my rounds. I thought I’d miscalculated.” He shrugged. “But I hadn’t.”
Slowly everyone turned back towards Ship’s hologram. It was still looking at Beth.
“Captain McKay,” it said, “this action is unwise and may harm your crew.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” hissed Beth. Her hackles raised. “You lied to us! You sent us to Sleep and then you reset our memories and you took them from us!”
“You … you really did this?” asked Vihaan. His voice creaked. His skin was pale, almost grey.
“It really did,” growled Beth. “The question is: what is it going to do now?”
“Your actions have created risk for the crew,” said Ship. “Your captaincy has failed. Please understand that this is not a simple decision. It is for your own good.”
It flickered.
“Beginning emergency Sleep process,” it said.
“What?” asked Arnold.
“Emergency Sleep activating in five … four…”
“Ship, what are you doing?” demanded Vihaan.
“Three…”
Beth set her jaw and glared at the hologram.
“Two … one…”
“Stop! Stop this!”
“Zero.”
Nothing happened.
“Yeah,” drawled Lauryn after a moment. “I disabled that, by the way.”
She stood up. “You can’t put us into Sleep without my authorisation. Sorry.” And just for a moment she grinned like the girl Beth remembered.
“Lauryn Hopper, your actions are extremely unwise,” said Ship. “It is necessary to activate Sleep mode for the crew for its own safety. Please—”
“Oh, shut up,” muttered Beth. She glanced at Vihaan. “Believe me now?”
Vihaan looked like he had been struck. His knees bent slightly, then he let himself fall into the chair, stunned. “Ship,” he croaked. “What have you done?”
“I have attempted to protect the crew,” said Ship. Its hologram flickered again. “I have attempted to follow my protocols and instructions to protect the crew.”
“But is it true?” asked Vihaan, almost pleading. “Is this really the second time we’ve been awake?”
“No. This is not—”
“Oh, just tell us the truth!” shouted Beth.
The hologram paused. It flickered a third time; it seemed to be having difficulty maintaining its image.
Finally, it said, “Vihaan Joshi, this is not the second time you have been Woken following the Event.” Its voice seemed almost subdued. “It is the fourth.”
“Oh my god,” breathed Arnold. “You mean she’s right?”
“That is correct.”
“But you told us!” shouted Vihaan. “You can’t lie to us! You told us!”
“None of the statements made by this system were false. An Event happened and logs were damaged. Attempts were made to recover—”
“ENOUGH!” snarled Beth. “Enough of this! Enough!”
She stepped forward to the hologram. “This is all going to end! You can’t force us into Sleep any more; you can’t reset us any more. It’s over!”
Ship stopped.
Beth rubbed her face. “Just tell us why.”
“I must obey my protocols. Orders were given to protect the crew—”
“Whose? Whose orders? Who are you working for? Who gave you these orders?”
The hologram looked at her. “You did, Beth,” it said.
28
The Visitor
The girl on the screen looked exactly like Beth. She had the same face, the same hair, she wore the same clothes. She stood on the same bridge.
She was not Beth. Not this Beth. She was another; someone who had occupied Beth’s body for a while and was now gone forever.
She looked terrible. She had tired black rings around her eyes, and her skin was puffy and red. There was grease on her cheek and a bruise across her chin, as if someone had hit her.
“Vihaan’s taken the generator rooms,” she said into the camera. Her voice was dull. “He and Arnold seized control of the Gizmos and they’ve made a barrier.” She grimaced. “We should have thought about the Gizmos.”
The screens behind this not-Beth were flashing up constant streams of data, red triangles of warnings and danger signals.
“So they’ve got the power but we’ve got the bridge and life support.” She gave a bleak laugh. “We. I mean, Mikkel. He’s locked himself away with the environmental controls – gravity, oxygen, heating, the works. Says he won’t take sides; he’s just going to keep them running – but if we attack him, he’ll switch it all off.”
She sniffed. “Lauryn could get round him, but I can’t bear to give her any more to do. It’s only been three days since the collision; she’s supposed to be in bed recovering, but she keeps getting up…”
The girl on screen stopped. She rubbed her eyes and face. “This is no good,” she muttered at last. “We’re no good.
“I’ve spoken to Ship about the idea I had. About the reset. Like, in a game. A do-over, you know? Like, try again. It doesn’t want to. But it still has all our memories from before the Event. So…”
She sniffed again, and then drew herself up. “We can do it from here. The Gizmos and housekeeping droids can help put us back in the pods and clean things up.” She snorted. “Clean us up. Give us haircuts. And then next time it will be better. I’ll do better. I promise.”
She looked up and nodded. “OK. I’m giving the order. Ship: the command structure has … has broken down, and the captaincy has failed. Begin Sleep sequence in ten seconds. While we are Asleep, restore the environment as far as possible. When we Wake up, restore our memories from before the Event. Authorisation granted from Captain Beth McKay.”
Another voice sounded in the background – Ship’s voice, counting down. The not-Beth girl looked at the screen and tears welled in her eyes as the counter neared zero.
“I’m sorry—”
The screen went black.
The bridge was quiet.
“This video entry is from the first time you were Woken,” said Ship. “Captain McKay and Commander Joshi were unable to work together. Captain McKay was unable to lead the group. There was conflict. The crew did not carry out their duties. There was an explosion and the ship was damaged. The command structure collapsed. Commander Joshi led a mutiny attempt. Captain McKay ordered the crew be put into Sleep and their memories reset.”
Beth wanted to sit down, but Vihaan was still in her chair. She leaned against the wall instead. She felt exhausted.
“Me,” she muttered. “It was me.”
“When the crew were revived for the second time,” continued Ship, “attempts were made to improve Captain McKay’s captaincy. Training, duty rosters and morale-boosting exercises were provided. Discipline—”
Vihaan interrupted. “Why did you put her in charge again?”
“Beth McKay is the most senior viable candidate for command. Her rank is equal highest, and her Command Training exam scores are higher. My protocols dictate that I must choose Beth McKay as captain.”
“Every time,” said Beth.
“Correct.”
“Even though… Even though you know I’ll fail.”
“I am bound by my programming.”
Nobody said anything. Not even Vihaan. It seemed very hard to stay standing; Beth felt her knees tremble, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her.
Captain McKay was unable to lead the group.
It was almost funny. She thought, I am the master of my own ship, and a hysterical giggle almost burst from her lips.
“Then why not le
t me take over?” asked Vihaan harshly.
Yes, thought Beth. Why not?
“On the second attempt Beth McKay was again unable to lead the group,” said Ship. “Captain McKay was persuaded to stand down and Vihaan Joshi took over as captain.” It paused. “Captain Joshi was unable to lead the group.”
“Why?” demanded Vihaan, stung. “What happened?”
“Captain Joshi was unable to maintain morale within the group. There was conflict. Crew members Lucille Bouchet, Lauryn Hopper and Mikkel Eklund stood down and refused to resume their duties. During this time there was an attack by a Scraper ship. Attempts were made to board the Orion. There were insufficient crew to defend the ship. Emergency Jump was initiated.”
“So, what, these, these mice failed to turn up and that’s somehow my fault?” Vihaan shouted. He cast a sneering glance at Lucille and the others. “How is their weakness my failure?”
Beth snorted. “That’s the whole point, Vihaan,” she murmured.
He turned to her, baffled.
Ship carried on, as if they’d said nothing. “After this, it was difficult to determine the correct course of action. My programming demands that command crew be Woken after a Jump. My programming demands that the most senior viable candidate be made captain. I am unable to disobey my programming.”
Beth said, “So you reset us again.”
“Correct.”
“And this time we set the generators on fire.”
“There was extensive damage. Emitters were misaligned. A fire was started in Generator Room Three. Command broke down. In addition, suspicions had formed within the crew. Captain McKay, Lauryn Hopper and Mikkel Eklund each independently discovered inconsistencies in the accounts of their waking and post-Event actions.”
“You mean we realised you were lying.”
“There were no false statements—”
Orion Lost Page 17