Final Days: Colony

by Jasper T. Scott

  Carrie returned to her food. When she was done, she nodded to Kendra and said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to see about arranging that tour of cryo for you guys.”

  “We’ll be waiting,” Kendra replied between sips of juice.

  They watched Carrie go, and then Kendra’s eyes flicked to Andrew. “Was that true?” she asked quietly. “What you said about the woman who snuck into your room?”

  Andrew nodded slowly. “I think so, yeah, but it’s hard to be a hundred percent sure. If it was real, then that mist I saw leaking into the room probably messed with my head.”

  “Assuming you weren’t dreaming, it was probably some kind of knockout gas,” Roland said.

  “Why would they put knockout gas on a spaceship?” Val asked.

  “A good damn question,” Andrew replied. “Roland, do you think you can find out if there’s something like that connected to the ventilation system?”

  “No, man. I’m locked out.”

  “Of everything?” Andrew pressed. “Come on, you’re Roland! Hacker extraordinaire. They can’t stop you.”

  “Well...” A sly smile graced the kid’s lips. “I guess I could search for another way in.”

  “Good. See what you can find. Meanwhile, I’m going to do some old-fashioned snooping.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Kendra said quietly.

  Andrew looked to her. “Why not?”

  But Roland was the one who answered: “If there is a system to pipe drugs into the air that mess with people’s heads, then that means Hound is hiding something big and he’s already prepared to cover it up. If he’s willing to gas people to keep them from learning the truth, then he might be willing to do a lot more than that. Exhibit A—why was that woman who came into your room scared?”

  Andrew frowned. “You think he might kill me if I put my nose where it doesn’t belong? How would he get away with that?”

  Roland shrugged. “I’m just saying. Be careful, man.”

  “He’s right,” Kendra added. “Leave it to me. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Fine,” Andrew conceded.

  “On the bright side,” Roland began, “maybe it was all just a dream and there is no gas.”

  Andrew snorted. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  SEVEN

  Kendra

  Val and Tony stood in unison, Andrew apparently unable to keep a scowl from his face. “Catch you guys later. Duty calls.” Val took the lead, and Tony followed closely behind the girl.

  It had been obvious something was wrong the moment Kendra had seen Andrew. His eyes were puffy, his lids half-closed giving him a groggy appearance. He wasn’t kidding about being gassed; she’d seen the after-effects on the job before.

  “I think you’re remembering it correctly, Andrew. I can see it in your face,” she told him.

  He nodded. “So we do it my way? Snooping?”

  She shook her head. “I prefer to call it organized reconnaissance.”

  “I have an idea,” Roland said.

  She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, Andrew took the bait. “And?”

  Roland popped a piece of pineapple into his mouth. Kendra considered the fruit, and wondered how long they would have fresh produce before resorting to eating freeze-dried foods. The thought reminded her that they were going to be freeze-dried themselves soon enough.

  “I’ll be making sure the floors are immaculate again today,” Roland said. “I just need to sneak in and check the venting system.”

  It sounded too dangerous for him to handle, but they didn’t have much time, so she nodded her agreement.

  As if on cue, her sister returned as Kendra picked away at her eggs, noticing Carrie stopping across the mess hall to chat with some guards. They were laughing and conversing like they were old friends, and it gave her a pang of regret.

  “We need to find this woman,” Kendra said.

  “And figure out what the hell kind of gas they’re pumping into our rooms. This is messed up,” Roland said. With his newly-groomed face, he seemed so much younger, like he’d shaved off ten years.

  “It’s a plan.” Kendra rested her fork as Carrie approached, smiling at her sister.

  “Ready for the grand tour?” she asked, and Kendra nodded.

  “We sure are.” Kendra thought she saw Roland pale, and she grabbed his arm, half-dragging him from the table. “You’re fine.” She said the words quietly in his ear, reassuring him. Earlier, he’d divulged his fear of confined spaces to her.

  They left the mess hall, walking toward the central elevator. “Cryogenics covers four stories of the ship.” Carrie motioned them inside the lift, and pressed her code to allow them access to those blocked-off floors. Kendra memorized the sequence. Four. Seven. Nine. Five. Two. She ran the numbers through her mind a few times, hoping she kept them in order.

  The elevator stopped, pinging at their arrival, and Kendra was surprised to find there were no guards stationed here. Hound was brilliant, but he didn’t appear to be overly concerned with any sort of mutiny. And why should he? On paper he was a hero, a mastermind they should all bow to for saving their lives.

  They were in a foyer with high ceilings and desks lining the walls, a few chairs scattered along the flat tabletops.

  “This way,” Carrie said as she tapped the same code into the mounted console, causing the thick, windowless metal doors to spread wide.

  Andrew followed Kendra’s sister, letting a whistle out as he stepped into the cryo facility. She didn’t blame him. It was remarkable inside.

  Kendra felt different the moment she set foot in the room, and realized it was a good ten degrees cooler. She rubbed her hands together and attempted to assess her surroundings. There were rows and rows of cryogenic chambers.

  “We call these our cryopods, for short.” Carrie walked over to one, and pressed a button on a compact screen over the glass directly in the center of the pod. “As you can see, there are enough for our entire ship’s population. We’ll be entering them in a few days.”

  “How do they work?” Roland asked. Kendra turned to see the man lingering at the entrance, his eyes darting around.

  “I’m not an expert on it, but you’ll be placed inside. Your body temperature will slowly decrease until you’re put into a hibernating state. You’ll have a very slow drip placed into your arm, and everyone’s vitals will be monitored closely,” Carrie told them.

  “And what happens if something goes wrong while we’re asleep?” Andrew asked her.

  “We have a few dedicated crew members watching over the entire facility for two-year stints. We’ll be alternating over the course of the journey,” Carrie told them.

  “So theoretically they’ll age?” Roland asked.

  “I suppose they’ll each age a few years by the end of our journey. A worthwhile sacrifice, don’t you think?” Carrie asked Roland, and he muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  Kendra looked up, seeing more cryopods above them. There were five in this row alone, stretching toward the high ceiling. “How do these work?” She pointed to the top row.

  Carrie moved to a central desk, activating it. “Stand back,” she warned, and the entire row shifted behind, while the next in line lowered to the floor. “We move ten at a time, filling the next row, then repeat the process.”

  Roland watched with obvious interest. “Like a Ferris wheel,” he said softly.

  Carrie laughed. “Sure. Like a Ferris wheel.”

  The chambers were intricate, not rough and crude like Kendra had imagined. Each of them appeared smooth: blue-tinted glass with built-in computer systems. It was all so… futuristic. “How is this possible? Did you test them?”

  Andrew grunted beside her.

  “We’ve run a lot of tests, yes,” Carrie said.

  “But for how long?” Andrew’s arms were crossed over his chest as he frowned toward Kendra’s sister. “Surely not for, let’s say, seventy-three years.”

  She shook he
r head. “No, but we have every confidence in the safety of the project.”

  Kendra hated how robotic her sister sounded. That, combined with the eerie facility, and Kendra was beginning to sense a pain in her stomach.

  Carrie’s electronic wristband beeped, and she glanced at it. “Sorry, guys. I’ll be right back.” She left the room, her boots echoing across the hard floor, leaving the three of them alone.

  “Is it just me, or is she a little…” Roland started, and cut himself off as he peered at Kendra. “Maybe we shouldn’t have told her about the visitor.”

  Kendra couldn’t help but agree with him.

  Andrew’s hands dropped to his sides. “I thought she was on our side, Kendra. Wasn’t it you who advised me to trust her?”

  “Yeah, but not with something like that. I’ve seen a lot of this in my life. Captive victims who end up siding with their captors,” Kendra said.

  “And you think that’s what’s going on here?” Andrew asked.

  “Not for sure, but until we gather more information, I’d rather we keep our theories to ourselves.” Kendra ran a hand over the closest cryopod.

  “I hope I have a quiet neighbor,” Roland kidded, but his expression gave his true feeling away. He was terrified of being confined in a tube for decades.

  “Roland, you see what you can learn about the gas vents today. I’ll task the kids with surveillance. We need to find this woman, to see what she can tell us. We’re running out of time,” Andrew said.

  “Sorry about that,” Carrie said from the entrance. “Duty calls. We’d better get you back on work detail.”

  Kendra glanced into the immense cryogenics room, almost unable to believe they were going to be living there for so many years before arriving at a new world.

  They moved for the elevator. Another day of folding laundry beckoned her.

  * * *

  Roland

  “Can you believe this?” the old man asked Roland as they walked through the hall, pushing mop buckets.

  “What?” Roland didn’t mind working with Oliver, but the man could drone on for hours about the most mundane topics. It was only his second day at his side, but his stories were already starting to repeat.

  “I was a respected anthropology professor at one of America’s finest institutions, and here I am, relegated to the life of a mop slinger.” Oliver had that unmistakable accent that didn’t speak of a location, but of a wealthy upbringing.

  Roland had heard this one before, and his response was more clipped than he’d intended. “Would you rather be dead?”

  This appeared to shock Oliver. “Well, I’ve never…”

  Roland assumed that wasn’t true, but he kept it to himself. If he was going to work with this windbag for extended periods of time, he needed to be on the same page as him. “I’m sorry, Oliver. You’re right. I never expected to be a janitor either. But… someone’s got to do it.”

  “Someone has to do it…” Oliver started, looking at Roland, then stopped. “Never mind. Where to?”

  They were in the bowels of the ship, having worked their way down, and Roland pointed to the middle of the corridor, indicating that that was where the central piping started.

  “Let’s clean over here,” Roland told the professor, who didn’t question his direction one bit. Instead, Oliver dunked his mop head into the bucket of frigid water, the scent of pine filling the air as he squeezed it through the wringer and set to even strokes on the hard floor.

  Roland wanted someone to arrive. He needed to get inside that boiler room.

  “Oliver, what are the chances of starting a new colony with a thousand people?” he asked. Anthropology was the man’s wheelhouse, and he suspected the professor could talk on the subject for hours; days, even.

  He didn’t disappoint. “Well, Roland, that’s a loaded question, one that begs many different questions. There are far too many factors and unknown variables, so it’s impossible for me to hypothesize properly,” Oliver said.

  Roland was already sore from the day’s work. He wasn’t one for physical work, but decided it was time his body got used to it. He doubted he’d be called on to be a laborer on Proxima, but he would have to carry his own weight.

  The professor’s answer had been so vague and lifeless, he almost didn’t want to continue talking to him. He wished he had earbuds to put in, some trance music to beat heavily through his skull and drown out the work.

  “But, given Hound’s resources, and the quality of the people he’s chosen to accompany the colony, I expect we have a far better chance at success than one might think,” Oliver finally said.

  Roland scoffed at his word choice. Hound had ‘chosen’ them to accompany him, as if it were a tea party, instead of abducting them at gunpoint. None of that mattered anymore. Survival was all that mattered. Roland wondered if he could look further than his own needs, even to the needs of his tight-knit group, and think about the colony on the whole.

  That’s what it was about to come to. If it was possible to travel to Proxima, they’d be there before the passengers knew it, and then the work would truly begin. It was almost too much to comprehend. There were far too many obstacles.

  The professor managed to drone on about migration patterns, food sources, and weather, when Roland spotted the incoming blue uniform. The woman walked with purpose, not slowing as she neared them.

  “Excuse me.” Roland jumped out in front of her, almost getting knocked over.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “We’re supposed to clean inside there, but the door’s locked,” he said, trying to keep his face as innocent as possible. Just a young man with a mop, nothing to see here.

  She stepped over the wet floor and buzzed him inside the boiler room. “Close it when you’re done.” She left them there, not bothering to stick around or ask further questions.

  “We weren’t asked to clean in there,” Oliver said when she was out of earshot.

  “Watch the door,” Roland said softly, and entered the space. It was loud inside, machines beeping and humming as they pushed air and liquids throughout the ship. Immense boilers stood like monoliths, huge pumps attached to the metal pipes beside them.

  Roland found what he was searching for: a compact office behind a filtration system. He flipped the lights on and activated the console. He searched through it, trying to find the right section. When he found the schematics for the air vents, he dug deeper, his hands shaking as he found the proof.

  There were other gases listed, ones not necessary for breathing air. His fingers raced across the keys, seeing that you could indeed isolate a single room and adjust the oxygen content, mixing in enough noxious gases to put someone to sleep. Andrew hadn’t been dreaming, which meant the warning from the mysterious woman had been real.

  Roland heard the professor’s voice and closed the system down, rushing from the room. He ran to the entrance, setting his hands on the mop at the same instant that a thick man with a furrowed brow stepped in. His hand lowered to the gun on his hip, and Roland whistled an old tune, walking by him, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

  “All done in here. Have a great day.” He stepped out of the room without the guard objecting and couldn’t move through the hall quickly enough.

  EIGHT

  Val

  Val dropped her lunch tray on the table with a noisy clatter before flopping down into an empty chair beside Tony with a loud sigh. Those theatrics drew a sharp look from her dad, but he didn’t comment.

  Tony eyed her dad for a moment before nudging her in the ribs and whispering, “Something wrong?”

  She fixed him with a disbelieving stare. Tony was always so upbeat and cheerful. It was starting to get on her nerves. “We just finished the dishes from breakfast, and here everyone is, dirtying them up again for lunch!” Val threw her hands up for emphasis.

  Roland started laughing at that. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been mopping floors.”

  Her dad snorted. “C
ould be worse. You could have had to listen to Harold bend your ear all day about the merits and disadvantages of using one lubricant versus another in the maintenance of climate-control fans.”

  Tony grinned and stuffed his mouth with a generous forkful of the grainiest rehydrated mashed potatoes that Val had ever tasted.

  She played with hers for a minute, frowning at her plate, her eyes drifting out of focus from sheer exhaustion. “I’m not even hungry.” She ditched her spoon with a grimace.

  “Better eat. Washing dishes burns a lot of calories. Wouldn’t want you to waste away on me. Your mother would kill me if…”

  Val stared wide-eyed at her father, a lump already aching in her throat.

  He winced. “Sorry.”

  She pushed the feelings aside, picked up her fork, and started eating. An awkward silence fell over the table. Kendra wasn’t here. She was off with her sister somewhere, the two of them eating by themselves for a change.

  By the time Val was only half finished eating her meal of mashed potatoes and fish, she was stuffed. She rose and carried the rest of her food to the garbage chute by the doors and the bin for dirty dishes. After scraping off her plate into the chute, she separated her utensils and tray and then dropped them into the bin. It was already half full of food-spattered plates, and stinking like the pits of Hell. Great. Her nose wrinkled up with the thought of cleaning out that bin again after they removed all the dirty dishes. The only way to do it was to climb in.

  The steamy stench of hot dish water and leftover food came back in a rush, making her stomach churn. That smell was tattooed into her brain from two days of scrubbing pots and pans. She turned away from the giant bin, covering her mouth and nose with one hand—

  And bumped straight into Tony, knocking the knife and fork off his tray. They clattered to the floor.

  “Sorry,” Val said, bending down with him to pick them up.

  He stood up, smiling mischievously at her. “You want to do something fun?”

  Val arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Here, on Eden? Not possible.”