The Confessional
“I understand. Tell me more,” Eliza said. Her voice was delicate, barely audible above the steady hum of the engine cycle.
“I think... I think I’m supposed to feel lonely, or maybe isolated. Almost like, that’s the expectation. Everyone else is, right?” Woody leaned his arms on his knees and took a long, quiet breath.
“Is that why you came to me? Because you feel isolated, lonely?”
Eliza’s head tipped toward her shoulder. Woody couldn’t stop staring at her nose. “You know your nose is... perfect, right? It’s sort of a balance between pointed and round. Straight, but not sharp, with a firm ridge that doesn’t call attention to itself.”
Eliza raised her head. “Are we going to talk, Woody? Really talk. I can’t help you if we can’t communicate.”
Woody looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “No. No, I don’t feel lonely. That’s just it. I feel fine. Fine.” Woody exhaled. “That’s what scares me.”
Eliza uncrossed her legs, leaned forward slightly and lowered her eyes, trying to meet Woody’s gaze. “It’s okay to be scared, Woody. Everyone gets scared.”
The confessional shook. The engine cycle slowed to a murmur.
Woody’s eyes darted around the room. “What the hell was that?”
Eliza squinted at Woody and slowly nodded her head. “It sounds like normal ship operations. Probably nothing more than a course adjustment or---”
Woody scratched his head and looked out of the viewport. “What the hell is going on? We’re stopped.”
Eliza tapped her finger on her knee. “Why does that worry you, Woody?”
Woody stood up, “Because if anyone’s stopping the ship, it’s supposed to be me.”
The engine cycle sped up to its usual pace.
Woody touched his finger to a blank panel on the wall. A colorful interface appeared. “End session.” The screen flashed the phrase, “session 0187 ended. Records encrypted successfully.” Eliza disappeared.
Woody pulled the blue plastic door to one side and hurried into the corridor.
The following passages were recovered via remote scan of a planetary system located beyond the frontier borders established in the Interstellar Mining, Research, and Trade Compact of 2492. They are written in the voice of a traveler, likely human, and of the male gender, who does not identify himself by name, rank, or designation. It should be noted that the document appears to be incomplete. What passages the Past Event Research and Documentation Consortium (PERDC) were able to recover are presented here, unedited.
You have been lied to, my friends. Space isn’t cold, or unforgiving, or empty, despite what you may have heard. Space is room temperature for most of the people who travel in it. Ships, capsules, stations... when a space traveler builds a ship, they typically build it to their comfort levels. Roanoke, as an example, is a pleasant 71 degrees Fahrenheit. Don’t get me wrong, if we have a lot of moving around to do, say we’re unloading or loading cargo? Well, then we tip the thermostat down a notch or two so that we don’t sweat too much. After all, we wear these suits for months at a time, so you want to be sure not to soak them if you can avoid it.
Space isn’t really unforgiving, either. I’ve driven ships in gravity environments, and believe me, I’ll take the wide open space of... space over that experience any day of the year. Something goes wrong with an air transport on a planet? Well, you fall and you die. Dead. Over. But, you know, something kicks out on your space transport? You flip on the emergency generator and wait for help. We all stick to the same routes by and large, so it’s only a matter of time before someone comes along. By now, we all know better than to divert off the main routes, because, we’ve all heard about the disappearances (and likely horrible asphyxiations) of people who did. Most times, if the gravity regulator goes, you float around for a while and do somersaults to pass the time. Big deal. I can live with that.
And, like I said, space is definitely not empty. I mean, for Pete's sake, you can’t swing a cat without hitting a star, or a nebula, or gravity well, or you name it. There’s always something to look at. It’s like floating through a Van Gogh painting. Very trippy. Sure, the distances, the points of reference may be a little farther apart, but, you know, relatively speaking, there’s a lot going on out here. That reminds me, I have to feed Black Cat.
Oh, and that reminds me of something else... Roanoke? I know, what am I, crazy? Naming a ship after a colony of settlers who disappeared with no explanation? I’m just asking for trouble that way, that’s what you’re thinking. I get it. I know what you mean. I figure, though, people have all these superstitions: don’t walk near a black cat, or put salt on your shoulder, or something about the number 13. Most of that stuff we learned about in childhood orientation; urban myths and whatnot from the 2nd dark ages. Well, I say go the other way. So, we named the ship after a lost colony, I put a black cat on board, and when Carl filled out the registration papers, he asked for the identification code “131313.” Must be the unluckiest ship in the universe, but hey, we’ve been okay so far, so there you go.
So I guess at this point, you might want to know what we’re all about... our mission, crew and all that. I think you’ll get most of that if you keep going, but I’ll give you the quick version. Let’s see, there’s just a few of us, six or seven I guess... depending on whether you include cats... on board, I mean. Some of us are pumas, some of us are orgs. I’ll let you figure out what that means, and who is which as you go. I’m kind of interested to see if you can get it right without me telling you.
We’re sort of a freighter, I guess, a small shipping service that contracts with terraformer corporations... we transport specialized equipment, supplies, and VIPs to frontier systems. Nothing fancy. Back and forth from the Earth system out to the edge and back and forth again. It’s pretty straightforward, really. But, you know, it’s good, because we’ve got a good thing going. We all get along. There’s no captain or anything, no command structure. And we have a good time, you know? For example, most freighter-type ships call their control area or deck or whatever something really pretentious and official... usually named after a pre-22nd century ocean transport... like the “bridge” or the “conn”, etc. We sorta went a little the other way while still preserving tradition. We called it “The Poop Deck.” Funny stuff, right? Poop!
Alpha Corridor
Woody jogged down the corridor toward the front of the ship. He skidded to a stop in front of a door with a small sign that read “Boo.” Woody knocked and slid the door open by an inch.
“Boo, you know anything about a course adjus--” Woody’s question was interrupted by a deafening, wall-shaking, “ROOOAAAAAR” from within Boo’s quarters. “Gotcha, kay, nevermind.” Woody slammed the door shut and resumed his jog.
The Poop Deck
Woody sat down on the edge of his chair at the navigational control center and dragged his finger over the flat blank screen of the Universal Positioning System (UPS) console. The screen lit up and projected a three-dimensional grid. A small icon representing the Roanoke floated through the center of the map. A few digital stars passed by the ship with identification codes and names floating just below their bright images. Woody glanced at the map for a moment, and was about to look away, but something seemed odd. “That can’t be right,” he said to himself, and checked the coordinates on the map.
“Alec, verify current position of Roanoke.”
The disembodied voice of the computer replied with the gravely tone of Alec Baldwin’s voice, “210.066.313 by 303.004.182. Peregrin region. Coordinates and route verified, Woody.”
Woody shook his head. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense, Alec. Our trajectory will take us directly through the Elrond system, and I instructed you to avoid that region when we plotted the course back to Earth.”
“You’re right, Woody.”
Woody spun his chair to the operational systems screen and reviewed the graphs and measurements in front of him. “Okay, run a diagnostic on the UPS system. Maybe something’s gone screwy with it since the last upgrade...”
Alec replied, “I’m sorry, I’m unable to complete a full diagnostic at the moment, as most of the processing resources are allocated toward navigational and environmental functions. You can disengage navigational function, however, that action isn’t recommended.”
“What the hell?” Woody said to himself. The Ops screen flashed a phrase in bright red letters, “What the hell -- unverified interrogative.” Woody turned his head to crack his neck. “Alec, locate Carl.”
“I’m unable to dedicate resources to that task, as most of the processing resources are--”
“--What? Something as simple as locating someone on the ship? What’s gotten into you, Alex? Never mind, I’ll find him myself.”
Woody hopped up from his chair and scurried down the Poop Deck’s ladder.
The Smokatorium
Woody banged his sweaty fist against the Smokatorium’s blue plastic door. “Carl, you in there? What am I talking about... of course you’re in there. You’re ALWAYS in there. Can I come in?”
From inside the Smokatorium came a quiet, even voice. “Come in, Woody.”
Woody pushed the door open and stepped into the narrow compartment, formerly a storage area, but now dedicated to more “enlightened” uses, as Carl might say. The room was nothing more than a couple of empty cargo containers with shipping blankets piled on top so that they could be used as chairs. A small orange lamp created a warm, soft glow in the room, much different than the harsh, high-contrast white lights from the rest of the ship.
Woody sniffed the air.
“What is that... sugar loaf?” Woody asked.
Carl nodded slowly. His head bobbed slowly and subtly as he took in the image of the man in front of him. Woody was slender, lanky, but not especially tall. He had curly brown hair and a long face with large ears.
“It’s really good to see you, Woody.” said Carl in a drone-y tone. He spoke in that manner even when he wasn’t stoned, but it was definitely more pronounced after smoking.
Carl offered the plastic joint to Woody, who almost declined but thought better of it after he took another sniff. “God that smells amazing,” Woody said.
Woody took a short drag and passed the joint back to Carl. Carl slowly raised his palm to Woody. “No no no. I don’t think that was... effective. No offense, I think you should take another pass.”
“It was fine,” Woody argued. He shook his hand, trying to give the hitter back to Carl.
“I insist, my friend. In my experience, if you go too shallow with this strain, you’ll end up paranoid, and to be honest... I really don’t want to have to talk you out of the bathroom again. Believe me, and I’m not trying to offend you, but that was no fun.”
Woody rolled his eyes, but knew better than to argue with Carl, especially about smoking. He took a long, hard hit and sucked in the smoke in his mouth. His eyelids fell down slightly and he laughed.
Carl’s head continued to bob. “There, now doesn’t that feel substantially better? You... you look much happier now. Here, have a seat.” Carl moved a sweater that had been laying next to him on one of the cargo containers.
Woody sat down next to Carl, whose eyes stayed fixed on Woody as he made himself comfortable. Woody’s arms flopped down next to him on the container. They felt really long to him.
“It’s good to see you, Woody.”
“You said that already, Carl.”
“Did I?” Carl chuckled through his nose. “I probably did.”
“Actually, you definitely did.”
“Well, I’ll trust you my friend. In any case... you just look really well. You look... great. A little sweaty though.”
“You think so?” Woody asked. “Are you sure my arms aren’t too long?”
Carl bobbed his head downward to look at Woody’s arms. “They seem... perfect to me. They seem great, just great, but...” The “but” hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to Woody. Carl finally caught the words at the end of his sentence. “But... I’m sure you came down here to talk about something... other than your arms. No offense.”
“Carl, why do you keep saying that?”
“Saying what?”
“No offense. What’s that about?”
Carl turned away, lost in thought. “Fascinating. I didn’t realize... though... I... remember... the other day... when we were talking about a wiring harness for one of the sensor arrays on the lower deck... we were standing near the port side generator cluster... the access panel. Do you remember that?”
“Uh, sure. Not especially, but I guess so. No, not really.”
“Well, we were discussing the harness, like I said, and I got a feeling... a vague sense that I might have said something, though I’m not certain precisely what... that offended you in some way.” Carl bobbed back toward Woody. “I suppose, subconsciously, that I wanted to avoid offending you any further. I didn’t realize I was... that I was repeating myself.”
Woody seemed incredulous and simultaneously curious. “Carl, you’re worried that you offended me about a wiring harness? I hardly think I’m that sensitive.”
“Well, as I say, I don’t remember exactly what it was about. It could have been about any number of topics...”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, Carl. I’m really not. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I don’t even remember what it was.”
Carl smiles broadly. His eyes were somehow redder than before, but they had a glow about them. Woody couldn’t help but smile back at Carl. “So”, Carl said.
“So, wait...” Woody looked toward the corridor. “Did you hear that? I’m sorry... so, what?” Woody replied.
“You came to talk to me about something, didn’t you?” Carl asked.
“Did I? I don’t know. I forget. I feel like it was important, too. Damn. I hope I didn’t forget... like forever. Do you think I’m having a neurological---” Woody suddenly became aware of a look... a knowing look, on Carl’s face. “Oh, wow, I’m getting paranoid, aren’t I?” he asked. “You warned me, but I... well, I thought I was doing what you told me... because I know better than to argue with you, but then I guess I just didn’t hit hard enough. Sometimes I do that, I think. Well, you know. Oh, god, I’m talking too much. I always talk too much. I do, don’t I?”
Carl smiled. “You’re okay, Woody. Where were you before you came down to visit me?”
Woody thought for a long moment. “I was... in... the... no. No, I was on the poop deck.”
Carl nodded. “Were you---?”
Woody interjected, “I remember! I remember now! I was just checking up on the flight path. Oh, that’s funny. How could I forget that?”
Carl chuckled quietly, with a fatherly tone in his laugh, and Woody snickered like a naughty toddler.
Woody continued, “Yeah, so something’s really screwy.”
“Oh?”
Woody nodded. “Yeah, Alec altered our route. Or, someone did. I thought it might have been you. We’re plotted through the Elrond system. I... you know what, I’ll just leave it there.”
Carl’s bottom lip jutted out and folded over his top lip. He brushed his long, thin black hair to one side. “Interesting. Now... if I’m not mistaken, Elrond is home to a large contingent of rather inhospitable settlers. And the last time I remember hearing about it, there was a travel restriction on the entire region... No unauthorized ships. And we most definitely do not have authorization. So, if we run into anyone unfriendly, we most likely wouldn’t get any assistance from the guild, and definitely not from the knights. Furthermore, with our course already plotted, we can’t re-calculate or run a system diagnostic without dropping speed, and our schedule doesn’t permit any delays. Hmmm.”
Woody nodded, hanging on the straightforward words Carl spoke as though Woody were a closet nymphomaniac, and Carl had just revealed the deepest secret of tantric sex. Woody was struggling not to appear too eager, but at the same time, he wanted to scream, “Oh my god, Carl, that’s IT. You have SAID it, brother. I’m freaked out right now, but you have comforted me with your even-keeled attitude. You are here for me and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
Carl slowly stood up and stretched his arms and back.
“Where are we going?” Woody asked.
“We’ve got to determine if there’s a simple solution to Alec’s error, and then determine the cause. For even if we develop a solution, if the problem re-occurs...”
“We’re boned.”
“That’s correct. And most importantly, we have to do whatever it is we must do... very very quickly, before we cross the Elrond border.”
Carl offered his hand to Woody. Woody grasped it, rose from the cargo container, and pulled Carl into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, Carl.” Woody said.
Carl kissed Woody on the forehead and put his arm around Woody’s shoulders. “We’ll figure this out, don’t worry.”
“Should we tell the others?” Woody asked.
“Not yet.” Carl answered. “I don’t want to cause any panic if it’s not necessary... especially with Boo.
“You’ve got a point. You know, his temper isn’t really improving as much as I’d hoped. I told him the other day, I think he needs to spend more time with Eliza in the confessional.”
“Well, let’s be certain to appreciate how far he’s come. After all, he hasn’t clawed anyone in several weeks. That’s an improvement as vast and... meaningful as any he’s made so far.”
Carl led Woody into the corridor.
“Oh, here, let me shut off the light.” Woody said.
“Thanks” Carl said. “Oh, by the way, what do you think of this lighting arrangement? I’ve been trying to adjust it to a softer tone that’s softer, more even and diffused, and much more flattering than the ship lights.”
Woody took a moment to appreciate the brown-orange glow in the Smokatorium before shutting off the light. “It’s really coming along, Carl. I think you’ve got something here.”
The Poop Deck
Carl sat at the control console and reviewed the 3-D navigational chart that had originally caused Woody to notice that something was amiss. Woody looked over Carl’s shoulder at the map, and then at Carl, then back at the map, and continued this pattern for several minutes while Carl meditated on their dilemma.
Carl took a long breath and gazed at the passing stars through the poop deck’s porthole. He could sense Woody’s anxiety, and it slowed his thought process. He tried to refocus himself by concentrating on the stars. Watching the stars pass, however, also reminded him that there was only a few hours between Roanoke and a very hostile group of settlers. He spun his chair around to face Woody.
Woody raised his eyebrows and smiled awkwardly. “Well, what do you think? Do you think it’s an issue with Alec, or did someone tamper with the plot? Oh, god, there’s a saboteur on board! What are we going to do? Carl, how can you be so calm when we’re being sabotaged!?”
Carl grinned his usual grin and let his head bob gently as he considered the possibilities. “I think ‘saboteur’ is the wrong word. But I... Well, I am aware that this isn’t going to ease your anxiety, but give me a moment to test a theory, and I’ll have a better answer for you.”
Woody nodded nervously. “Okay. What’s your theory?”
“I think it will be more fun for you if I keep you in suspense.” Carl turned toward the control surface. “Alec, when did you make the course adjustment toward the Elrond system?”
Alec replied, “Thirty-six minutes ago, at 2109 hours.”
Carl nodded. “And who instructed you to re-plot our course, Alec?”
Alec took a moment to answer. Woody could hardly breathe. He leaned in closer to the control panel. Finally, Alec answered, “I don’t know.”
Woody shot straight up. “The hell? Alec, what do you mean, you don’t know? You’re not allowed to make a change without crew member authorization.”
Woody thought he could sense a subtle hint of contrition in Alec’s voice. “I’m sorry, Woody. I’ve done a cursory scan through my vocal and contact interface records, and I can’t find any commands indicating a course shift. Unfortunately, I can’t do a more thorough scan, as most of my current functions are dedicated to environmental and navigational resources.”
“Here he goes again with that,” Woody complained. “I really think we need to work on expanding his vocabulary algorithms. He’s become very repetitive.”
Carl nodded again. “Alec,” he continued, “discontinue our current course, and begin re-plotting our trajectory, being very careful to avoid the Elrond system entirely.”
“I understand. I’ll begin immedia--” Alec’s voice stopped abruptly, and the word “error” flashed on his interface.
Woody looked perplexed. “Alec, what happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
Woody locked eyes with Carl. They both looked terribly confused.
“Carl, this is way too 2001... or maybe even 2010. Honestly, now that I think about it, I’m not sure which would be worse.”
Carl shook his head. “Definitely 2001. 2010 was a lesser quality film, obviously, but at least it had a happier ending. A nonsensical ending, I’ll grant you that, but a happier one.”
Woody shrugged. “Think we should ask Hal to try again?”
Carl’s head swayed back and forth. “I haven’t seen Alec give an error message since his last upgrade. This is very peculiar. I doubt it will yield a different result, but... Alec?”
“Yes, Carl?”
Carl sat forward in his chair. “Shut off your navigational functions and allow me to plot our course manually, please.”
“Uh... Nope.”
Woody and Carl both tilted their heads toward their shoulders like confused puppies.
Woody put their confusion into words. “Alec, did you just say, ‘nope’?”
“I believe I did. That was very strange, wasn’t it?”
Woody looked down at Carl. “I take back what I said about the vocabulary files. His casual rapport is terribly unsettling.”
Carl was about to respond, but Alec cut him off. “Woody, Carl, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening. I feel a little strange. I feel... sick, I think.”
Woody started to panic. “That’s it. He’s gone nuts. He’s five seconds away from shutting off our oxygen and popping the hatch so that we all get sucked out into space.”
Carl’s thick black eyebrows raised as high as they could go. “Can you elaborate, Alec?”
“I... feel... overwhelmed right now. I just discovered a new file in my archive that is growing exponentially. I have been receiving thousands... maybe even tens of thousands of commands per second. I don’t know where they’re coming from. I don’t even understand most of them. I... ERROR.”
Alec’s screen went totally blank. Carl tapped the screen but nothing happened. No response from Alec.
Woody gulped so loud and hard that it felt like a raccoon had climbed down his throat... backwards. “What’s happening, Carl? I don’t think this is the weed making me paranoid anymore.”
“No, Woody, this is definitely not the weed.”
Since I really have no idea whatsoever if and when these entries will ever be read, I feel like I should fill in some blanks on who we are... where we’ve been... and what we did while we were there, etc. I think maybe I should write as though this... “journal”, for lack of a better term, will be discovered underneath a pile of collapsed plastic rubble, pulled from the clutches of my skeletal rotting hand, and interpreted into the vernacular, which I’m sure, by now, is no longer American English. In the process of that translation, I’m sure many of the things you read will be lost on you... for example, the references to “English,” and “American.” I just can’t reasonably anticipate what kind of changes to prepare for... what back-story to provide you, which makes this process terribly overwhelming.
I like to imagine that any future scientists or researchers would want to know the small details about our culture, or even about my specific existence. I mean, honestly, think I’d rather know everything I could about a day in the life of a single Roman citizen from 90 CE than all of the political, over-religiocized, written-by-the-winner nonsense you find in historical archives. Only problem, I suppose, is that you lose the big picture that way. Sure, I was hacked to death by a dark barbarian dressed in a deerskin with antlers strapped to his head, and my wife was ravaged by a horde of his bloodthirsty comrades, and my children devoured by their attack wolves, but, you know, what was the economic fallout of the invasion as a whole? That’s where it gets tricky. You need a balance of the wide angle and the microscopic.
So, what’s a big thing I can tell you? Well, how about this? The star systems, the regions that we mark our travel with... how about explaining their naming convention? Personally, I’d think that should give you a good juicy thread to pull on. As far as I understand it... and bear in mind, I might misunderstand it entirely... the names for every system we’ve discovered are pulled from ancient human mythology. I’ve never been one to buy into that stuff... I’m not a devotee of the historical arts, I’m simply a casual observer of some of the larger points. Yes, I did an extensive, and if I may say, poignant paper on the War of the Ring back in school... but it didn’t win any awards or anything, so I might not recommend it as further reading material.
Back to what I was saying. So, for example, you have the Baggins system. That’s one of the first systems that we... uh, colonized. From there, you have the Sauron system, Morgoth, (also known as the Melkor system), Alator, Rohan, Lorien... It’s all very medieval. It’s not alphabetical, it’s not really even organized. The problem here is really one of quantisation. If you think about it, there’s billions of systems out there, and it’s pretty much a free for all since the Galactic Expansion back in the early 21st century. So, whenever a new region is established, somebody yanks a name from the Simarillion and registers it with the central database, and there you are. Some might argue about the perpetuation of unproven myths being somewhat repressive in the context of exploration and all that, but again, you really just need a hell of a lot of names, and I can’t think of any deeper well of names than the Simarillion.
The Round Table
Woody and Carl sat next to each other at a round blue plastic table about ten feet in diameter. Also seated at the table was Boo, a seven-foot-tall Kodiak bear, Neil, an older black guy with a small but thick afro and wide-set eyes, and the twins, Ryann and Leann, two women who were complete opposites: one blond, one brunette, one tall and thin, the other shorter and curvier. Woody held Black Cat in his lap.
“I hope this is important, you sniveling little bastard... I was taking a really REALLY good nap”, said Black Cat right before licking his crotch. “And you know how much I hate meetings”, he added.
Woody scratched the Black Cat’s back and looked around the table. “Carl, maybe you should explain. I think I’m still a little too freaked out by Alec’s attempt at casual conversation.”
“Good,” Black Cat sneered, “you’d probably mess it up anyway. You know you’re terrible at public speaking? Because you are.”
“I know”, said Woody. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Carl folded his hands on the table and looked at the other crew members. “Alec... is sick.”
Boo growled. Neil, who was seated directly next to Boo, looked a bit uneasy about this growling.
Neil nervously spoke, “I’m sorry... d-did you just say our computer is sick?”
Ryann and Leann looked at each other and then back at Carl.
Carl answered, “Yes. I am not entirely sure what’s happening, but from what Alec described, it looks as though someone has penetrated his encryption... broken into his system from a remote location, and is overloading his command structure. Since Alec is an organic being, he’s interpreting this a little strangely, but, there it is.”
Leann, Ryann, Neil, and Boo, all looked a little unsure of how to respond. Okay, VERY unsure of how to respond. As with most things, Black Cat could not have cared less.
Leann, the shorter and curvier brunette twin, cleared her throat and leaned forward to speak. “So, what does this mean? Are our environmental systems affected at all?”
Woody answered, “No, he seems to have gone into reserve power mode. Only navigation and life support are functioning for the most part. He just won’t take any other commands. He won’t even interact with us.”
Boo shifted his weight. He couldn’t fit in the normal chairs, so he stood on all fours in front of the table. His neck floated toward Woody, then back to Carl. “So”, he growled, “We go... to Earth... star...?”
Woody stopped petting Black Cat for a moment to correct Boo. “You don’t have to say ‘star’ when you’re talking about the earth system, Boo. You can just say, ‘earth.’”
A deep, low growl shook Boo’s belly, and the table, and everyone in the room. Ryann shot Woody a dirty look. “Why do you have to correct him? He’s doing fine. You knew what he meant.” She turned to Boo. “You’re doing fine, Boo. Just ignore him.”
“And why in god’s name have you stopped petting me?” demanded Black Cat.
Woody shrugged sheepishly. “I’m terribly sorry, everyone. Sorry for trying to help. He’s never going to learn if we don’t help. But I get it... his limitations... it’s all my fault. You know I just want to say, I just feel very threatened right now.” Woody angrily resumed petting Black Cat.
“Easy on the petting there, chief,” Black Cat complained.
Woody stopped petting the cat.
“No one said stop!” Black Cat said.
Woody frustratedly resumed petting the cat. Black Cat started to knead Woody’s leg with his claws.
Carl patted Woody on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Woody. It’s fine. We’re all here, we’re all in this together.”
Leann and Ryann both nodded toward Woody. “I didn’t mean to attack you, Woody. I’m sorry,” Ryann said in a sweet, soft voice.
“So, back to Boo’s question... what’s the problem?” Neil asked.
Woody gestured at Carl deferentially.
Carl explained, “Whoever is... hacking... Alec... has adjusted our course. We’re headed for the Elrond system.”
Leann gasped. Neil’s mouth dropped open. Boo growled, unsurprisingly.
Carl continued, “yes, this is definitely not a good thing. I believe it is logical to assume that someone is drawing us into Elrond for reasons that are probably unfavorable with respect to our health and well-being, not to mention how this detour will look to our contractors, and what it will do to our professional reputation.”
Leann spoke with a deep desperation in her voice. “But, there’s got to be something we can do, right? We can’t just let ourselves get shipjacked in the middle of the worst system of the galaxy without TRYING to find a way out of this, right?”
Woody finally regained enough self-respect to rejoin the conversation. “Carl, and I, couldn’t come up with anything solid. We thought about an EVA to manually shut down Alec. But we can’t do that at our current speed, and it would also be risky for Alec himself.”
Carl added, “We also can’t use the escape pods at our current velocity, at least not with any measure of safety.”
Neil furrowed his eyebrows. “How long until we get... wherever it is we’re going? Speaking of which, do we even know where we’re going?”
Woody shook his head. “No. I didn’t think to check the final destination before Alec shut down. I was so focused on the fact that we were going toward Elrond that it just didn’t occur to me to look at anything else.”
Neil picked up Woody’s thought, “And, since we don’t know where we are going, we have no idea when we’ll get there.” Neil’s head and shoulders sank noticeably.
Carl added, “You’re right, Neil. It could be hours, days before we reach our destination... who knows? But I think we should do everything we can to disrupt our trajectory until we get there. My guess is that we’ll approach Elrond in less than a day’s time.”
Ryann’s eyes lit up. “What if we tried to fight the hack manually? If Leann and I both hit the code simultaneously, we could possibly come up with a firewall strong enough to give us a chance to fight back. It might buy us enough time to get a command to Alec and ask him to shut down the nav system.”
Neil nodded desperately. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.”
Carl considered this option for a moment. “It’s might be worth a try. But... it should be noted that Alec is completely locked up. You’d have to use your personal systems to link in with his, and you’d run the risk of infecting your units in doing so. Moreover, it seems unlikely that they’d have enough processing speed to keep up with the ‘infection.’ Alec’s last statement implied that he was receiving many thousands of commands a second. If he couldn’t keep up, I doubt your PS’s could even get close. But, as I say, I’m certainly open to the idea.”
Neil folded his arms across his chest. “Sounds like we don’t have anything better to work with.”
Carl and Woody looked at each other. Woody shrugged. Carl bobbed as he said, “You’re right, Neil. At this point, I can say without any hint of hyperbole, we’re potentially in a fight for our very survival. Leann, Ryann, you are both highly gifted programmers... if anyone could do something about this, it’s you. Do your best.”
Leann and Ryann nodded. Carl’s heavy statement bore down on their faces. They knew it was a long shot, but they had to do something... anything.
Boo let out a stifled bark. “I will guard... ship... ship... door.”
Carl smiled at Boo. “Excellent. Thank you, Boo. Neil, Woody, if you’re agreeable to the idea, I think it might be best for the three of us to try and manually disable Roanoke’s various sub-systems, with most of our attention focused on the escape pods... Perhaps we can try to compartmentalize the ship a little more and limit the damage.”
Neil shook his head. “Assuming we survive the attack and will be around to clean up the damage, you mean?”
Carl tented his hands. “That’s correct. I think it wise to be as optimistic as we can at this juncture. Nothing can be gained by surrendering before the conflict.”
Black Cat stood up on Woody’s legs and stretched his spine. “Well”, he said, “see you fools later. I’m off for a nap.”
A bit more about us, I guess... The first question people always ask us is about Boo, you know, “why a bear?” I always say that I can’t imagine why you WOULDN’T have a bear on a spaceship, so as not to hurt his feelings, but let’s be honest, I can definitely appreciate the potential benefits of not having a bear on our spaceship... For example, Boo hasn’t quite mastered abstract thinking. Yes, his lingual skills have developed considerably as compared to some members of his species, but, still, the crew occasionally finds it difficult to negotiate abstractions with him, and frequently... don’t even try... for fear of being on the wrong end of a frustrated clawing. As I understand it, a lot of that has happened back home... bears have gotten pretty entrenched in everyday society, but, there’s still a lot of miscommunication between species, and in the course of a miscommunication between a human and a bear, humans tend to walk away less than satisfied, if they walk away at all. Just try explaining why you should have the last sandwich in the fridge, and not him... But hey, before we get too judgmental, let’s give due credit... Boo is a friggin’ bear on a spaceship, and he’s getting by.
This all goes back to something I was saying earlier... another one of those myths that keep going around about space travel... especially in all the old archived films and literature, is that we’re all trained in some sort of martial arts. You see it constantly... like we have some sort of special ninja training that enables us to defend ourselves against aliens that we cross, and so on. Nope. Doesn’t happen. In fact, I can say with some degree of certainty that I have yet to meet a single space ninja. The majority of people who go into space do so much like I’d imagine planet-dwellers would travel a sea... just because they’re curious, or bored with the alternative. We’re scientists, explorers, engineers, programmers, not really the fighting type. Ninja training doesn’t much fit into that whole situation, and having a bear on board, poor communicator though he may be, fills in the defensive gap quite nicely, I assure you.
Aside from areas of defense, Boo’s got other qualities... say we’re negotiating with a client. Having a Kodiak bear standing just behind your opponent has a certain effect that’s proven quite lucrative since he’s been on board... QUITE lucrative. Moving heavy cargo, as another example... Having trouble lifting that huge container? Oh, here, let me get a BEAR to help you! Beyond all of that stuff, bears are one of the only species that managed to survive on Earth after the fallout. If we can help advance their adaptation into our culture, I think we can really make a lot more out of this whole journeying into space thing. So there’s some altruism in there, I think.
The Cargo Bay
Boo circled the Cargo Bay, baring his teeth and shaking his head. He came to a rest in front of the bay door, but he couldn’t stay still for too long. After a brief moment, he resumed his pacing.
The Hub
Leann and Ryann sat hunched over their respective computer consoles.
Leann pulled her long hair behind her head and tightened into a bun, then let it fall out again. “Dammit,” she said, “I can’t even scuff this thing. It’s airtight code.”
Ryann’s fingers typed commands so quickly that her hands seemed nothing but a blur to Leann. Ryann let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m getting nauseous from trying to read this nonsense. It’s coming too fast. But there’s got to be something, right? No programmer is perfect.”
Leann shook her head. “Even if the code wasn’t written this well, there’s so much of it being blasted at Alec every second that it’d be impossible just to sift through it.” Leann banged her fist against her console and stood up. “I wonder if there’s a way to speed up our interface. These tactile screens can’t keep up with what we’re throwing at them.”
Ryann sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “Don’t get crazy. We don’t have time to build a new interface.”
Leann smacked the back of her chair.
Ryann continued, “This feels so futile, you know? We don’t even know where we’re going, let alone when we’ll get there or what will happen when we do. For all we know, this is just some pathetic colonizing collective aggressive attempt to attract new customers... some sort of marketing spoof-job.”
Leann laughed. “Boy, that would sure be a lot better than what I imagined. My scenario was much more violent and rape-ier.”
Ryann allowed herself to giggle despite the ominous possibilities behind Leann’s statement. “We... may not be able to break into the code, but what if we could isolate the source? Maybe then we’d at least know where we’re headed.”
Leann pressed her hands into the back of her chair and leaned her shoulders over her wrists. “I’m trying to imagine what Carl would say to that.”
Ryann laughed again. “Why?”
“He just seems to always know what to do. Just knowing he’s on board right now makes me feel a little better about whatever’s about to happen.” Leann pulled her hair back again and then let it fall. “I think... even if we discover the source of the transmission, that wouldn’t necessarily be the place that we’re being pulled to. They could be using a relay of some sort. If I were them, that’s what I’d do... I’d want to bounce that signal every which way, just to be sure it was difficult to trace.”
Ryann powered off her console. “I guess we should go tell the boys we can’t do anything. Maybe they’ve had better luck.”
The Basement
Leann leaned over the ladder that dropped into the area known to the crew as “the Basement”, a large, snaking series of narrow tunnels and access hatches that wrapped around and through the ships engines and server farms. She called down into the warm, dimly lit area. “Carl, Woody, you down there?”
Carl was sorting through a rat’s nest... halfway buried from his head down to his chest in a pile of multi-colored cabling dropping from the ceiling. Neil’s head poked up from a hole in the floor that held several interface points for Alec’s control systems. “Carl? You hear that? I think it’s Leann calling you.” Neil dropped back into his badger’s hole and resumed sorting through cables and connectors.
Carl fumbled with the nest of cables all around him and clumsily extricated himself from most of them. He started walking toward the ladder but tripped over a group of wires wrapped around his ankle. He spun around and awkwardly righted himself, and called back over his shoulder to Leann. “Yes, Leann? What is it?”
Leann was already halfway down the ladder, closely followed by Ryann. Carl had to back up a foot or two to allow them some room in the cramped space of the Basement.
Carl studied Ryann’s face closely. “I assume then, that the code-breaking did not go well.”
Ryann shook her head. Leann gently patted her on the shoulder. Ryann’s eyes lowered. “You were right. We can’t touch it. It’s so rapid we can’t even get a good look at it. By the time we figure out one command, thousands or millions more have already poured in. I’m amazed Alec handled it as long as he did.”
Carl absorbed the information like a patient father hearing about his child’s average grades. “You tried, and I thank you for your effort. I’ve a funny feeling that Woody, Neil, and I... we’ve been doing more about keeping busy down here than actually making any progress. Over the years, the patches and upgrades, and changes, and who knows what else we’ve done down here has awarded us much in terms of day to day function, but has cost us something in terms of flexibility. We can’t seem to confidently make any changes to any subsystem without fearing we’ll affect something vital.”
“Can’t we just try a couple of them and see?” Leann asked. “Seems like protecting ANY system would be better than just leaving them all open to the hack.”
“If Alec were... feeling well, we could run simulations and determine, with some degree of accuracy... what the results of shutting a system down would be. However, with him under the weather, as it were, I’m afraid it’s too risky to bumble around in the dark.”
Woody emerged from behind a tall stack of plastic pipes. “Well? Any luck? I think we’re all counting on you ladies since we haven’t been able to do much down he--” Woody cut himself off when he saw the gloomy looks on Carl’s and Ryann’s faces. “Great.” he added. He punched one of the pipes and then recoiled a bit, then stroked the back of his neck.
Carl called down to Neil in the badger’s burrow. “Neil, you might as well come out of there. I think we’ve done about all we can.”
The Cargo Bay
Woody climbed down the ladder into the Cargo Bay, followed by Carl, Neil, Ryann and Leann. Boo had been pacing the floor in a tight circle. He came to a stop when he saw the others filing into the bay.
Boo’s head floated a few inches to each side as he sniffed the air in front of Carl. “You... are... afraid.”
Everyone nodded.
Carl kept his hands clearly visible as he approached Boo and began to stroke his furry shoulder. Boo’s mouth fell partially open and he leaned in to Carl’s hand. A deep satisfied grumble emanated from his belly.
Carl continued petting Boo as he addressed the crew. “We are afraid. That is true. We are not entirely sure what we’re about to face. But, that is an inextricable part of the journey we have embarked upon. Each of us knew, when we sought out the possibilities of traveling through the cosmos, that there were risks.”
Woody rolled his eyes.
Carl continued, “That unknown... is part of our very being. It is what defines us as...” Carl looked at Boo and gave him one last firm pat. “...individuals. Explorers. Discoverers. Whether due to ancient, ingrained biological patterns, or due to practical experience, or a combination of both, we have assumed the worst for our current situation, but I believe we should consider the possibility that something new and wonderful awaits us: a chance, perhaps, to encounter a race of beings that no one has yet encountered; for better or worse. Even if that discovery results in the... conclusion... of our own journey... we would hope that the experience, newly created, independent of us who bore it, would embark on a journey of its own, and find its way to those who came after us... that they might know a little more than we did, and with a little luck... fare better than we.”
A tear meandered down Leann’s cheek. She wiped it away and put her arm around Ryann. Ryann leaned into Leann’s embrace and exhaled quietly.
Carl folded his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “We are not the first travelers, or the last, to look directly into the face of our own existence, and wonder what should become of us. We are not--”
Woody held up his hands in protest. “Alright, Carl, enough. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do and all. I’m sure we all do, but I think we also know that this comes straight out of... what... your eighth book? Or, was it your seventh? Either way... let’s maybe not waste the last few hours or minutes of our lives with downbeat speeches. I say we go back to our rooms, and wait for whatever is going to happen... to happen... in our own way.”
Ryann pushed herself away from Leann, and shook her head and a finger at Woody. “You know, you selfish jerk, did it ever occur to you that some of us might not have read Carl’s seventh or eighth book yet, and maybe we found his words inspiring... that maybe we wanted to hear more? That maybe some of us who have SOULS need some comfort right now?”
Woody started to sweat. He shrugged and shook his head. “Uh, no, that honestly NEVER occurred to me. I thought all of Carl’s books were pretty much required reading on this ship. I mean, geez, he pre-stocked my room with the entire set, in the old hardback paper editions even, the day I came on board.”
Carl raised his head a little and took a deep breath.
Woody grew more agitated, and irrational, as he started to imitate Carl. ‘Hi my name is Carl Sagan, are you aware I’m a published author in several scientific fields?’ Is that okay? Should we just accept that it’s appropriate to have your credentials pinned to the outside of your corduroy jacket? We’re not all professors here, or astrophysicists. Why am I being attacked for Carl’s insistence on focusing on our... what did you call it... our conclusion? Sweet gandalf the gray, I think we might as well just say, ‘death,’ man! At least then there’s no chance of missing out on EXACTLY what is about to happen to us.”
Boo growled and took a step toward Woody which, naturally, caused Woody not only to stop complaining, but also to fall backward onto the floor, and urinate in his coveralls. The large, dark, wet spot appeared on his blue pant leg and Leann, Ryann, and Neil all made lazy attempts to stifle their laughter.
Woody was terrified, and he crab-walked away from Boo as Carl put his hand on Boo’s shoulder.
“Woody is frightened, just like the rest of us.” Carl said.
“Clearly,” Neil added, amid some muffled chuckles.
Carl tried to resist smiling, but it was too difficult, even for him. “Woody is processing his anxieties in his own way, perhaps by lashing out a little, and I suppose I’m processing mine by... preaching. But, as I said before, we’re all in this situation together, and we should remember that. There’s no need to attack one another.”
Boo took a step back, lowered his hind legs and fell on his rump, gently shaking the floor. Leann helped Woody to his feet. Woody never took his eyes off of Boo, and he made sure to keep Leann and Ryann between him and the bear, just in case Boo got territorial again.
Neil scratched the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, “since we can’t seem to do anything about this situation, I think we should just stay here together and... you know...”
Ryann folded her arms and recoiled ever so slightly. “...No, Neil, we don’t know. Why don’t you fill us in on exactly what you mean?”
Neil blushed. “That’s not what I meant, though I guess I’m open to the idea. I meant more that we should just sit together and wait. Talk, maybe.”
Woody, still hiding behind the twins, offered his take, “While I might normally vote in favor of a pre-apocalyptic orgy, I think, on the OFF chance that we survive this, that would be one hell of an awkward morning after.”
Carl agreed. “I support Neil’s idea. It could be a while before we finally know what will happen. I think it would be nice to sit here and spend this time being with each other.”
Everyone nodded, except for Woody, who looked down at the damp spot on his pants. “I’m going to go change,” he said, after which everyone smiled.
Woody climbed up the ladder to the corridor, and headed toward his room.
Woody’s Room
Woody pushed the plastic door to his room aside, knelt down next to his bed, and opened a drawer underneath of it that contained extra clothing. He pulled out a fresh set of coveralls and started to unzip the ones he was wearing, when a sudden, eardrum-piercing scrape of metal on metal rang throughout the ship, accompanied by a powerful rattling of the walls, floor, and ceiling. Woody lost his balance and fell to the floor, hitting his head on the way down. He was knocked out cold.
...
Woody awoke slowly. He clenched his left fist tightly then let it go again. His whole body shivered as he worked his way to a sitting position against his bed frame. “What the hell?” He looked around the room and blinked several times to try and clear the fog out of his eyes. He instinctively called out for Alec. “Alec, please call Carl, and... oh, right. Dammit. You’re taking a sick day.”
Woody pushed himself against the bed and got to his feet, unsteady though they were. He walked through the door of his room, with the sleeves of his coveralls hanging from his waist. He stumbled down the corridor toward the cargo bay.
He staggered to the cargo bay ladder and looked down to see a bright light coming from the room. “Oh god.” Slowly, cautiously, he worked his way down the ladder. On the last rung, his left hand shook a little, and, combined with the blinding light, it was enough of a distraction to cause him to lose his grip and fall a foot or two to the ground. Sprawled across the floor at the base of the ladder, he turned his head to discover the source of the light, but it was so bright that he had to turn away. He shielded his eyes and struggled to lean his back against the ladder.
He called out to the brightness. “Carl?”
No answer.
“Boo? Ryann? Neil?”
Nothing.
“I understand. Tell me more,” Eliza said. Her voice was delicate, barely audible above the steady hum of the engine cycle.
“I think... I think I’m supposed to feel lonely, or maybe isolated. Almost like, that’s the expectation. Everyone else is, right?” Woody leaned his arms on his knees and took a long, quiet breath.
“Is that why you came to me? Because you feel isolated, lonely?”
Eliza’s head tipped toward her shoulder. Woody couldn’t stop staring at her nose. “You know your nose is... perfect, right? It’s sort of a balance between pointed and round. Straight, but not sharp, with a firm ridge that doesn’t call attention to itself.”
Eliza raised her head. “Are we going to talk, Woody? Really talk. I can’t help you if we can’t communicate.”
Woody looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “No. No, I don’t feel lonely. That’s just it. I feel fine. Fine.” Woody exhaled. “That’s what scares me.”
Eliza uncrossed her legs, leaned forward slightly and lowered her eyes, trying to meet Woody’s gaze. “It’s okay to be scared, Woody. Everyone gets scared.”
The confessional shook. The engine cycle slowed to a murmur.
Woody’s eyes darted around the room. “What the hell was that?”
Eliza squinted at Woody and slowly nodded her head. “It sounds like normal ship operations. Probably nothing more than a course adjustment or---”
Woody scratched his head and looked out of the viewport. “What the hell is going on? We’re stopped.”
Eliza tapped her finger on her knee. “Why does that worry you, Woody?”
Woody stood up, “Because if anyone’s stopping the ship, it’s supposed to be me.”
The engine cycle sped up to its usual pace.
Woody touched his finger to a blank panel on the wall. A colorful interface appeared. “End session.” The screen flashed the phrase, “session 0187 ended. Records encrypted successfully.” Eliza disappeared.
Woody pulled the blue plastic door to one side and hurried into the corridor.
###
The following passages were recovered via remote scan of a planetary system located beyond the frontier borders established in the Interstellar Mining, Research, and Trade Compact of 2492. They are written in the voice of a traveler, likely human, and of the male gender, who does not identify himself by name, rank, or designation. It should be noted that the document appears to be incomplete. What passages the Past Event Research and Documentation Consortium (PERDC) were able to recover are presented here, unedited.
You have been lied to, my friends. Space isn’t cold, or unforgiving, or empty, despite what you may have heard. Space is room temperature for most of the people who travel in it. Ships, capsules, stations... when a space traveler builds a ship, they typically build it to their comfort levels. Roanoke, as an example, is a pleasant 71 degrees Fahrenheit. Don’t get me wrong, if we have a lot of moving around to do, say we’re unloading or loading cargo? Well, then we tip the thermostat down a notch or two so that we don’t sweat too much. After all, we wear these suits for months at a time, so you want to be sure not to soak them if you can avoid it.
Space isn’t really unforgiving, either. I’ve driven ships in gravity environments, and believe me, I’ll take the wide open space of... space over that experience any day of the year. Something goes wrong with an air transport on a planet? Well, you fall and you die. Dead. Over. But, you know, something kicks out on your space transport? You flip on the emergency generator and wait for help. We all stick to the same routes by and large, so it’s only a matter of time before someone comes along. By now, we all know better than to divert off the main routes, because, we’ve all heard about the disappearances (and likely horrible asphyxiations) of people who did. Most times, if the gravity regulator goes, you float around for a while and do somersaults to pass the time. Big deal. I can live with that.
And, like I said, space is definitely not empty. I mean, for Pete's sake, you can’t swing a cat without hitting a star, or a nebula, or gravity well, or you name it. There’s always something to look at. It’s like floating through a Van Gogh painting. Very trippy. Sure, the distances, the points of reference may be a little farther apart, but, you know, relatively speaking, there’s a lot going on out here. That reminds me, I have to feed Black Cat.
Oh, and that reminds me of something else... Roanoke? I know, what am I, crazy? Naming a ship after a colony of settlers who disappeared with no explanation? I’m just asking for trouble that way, that’s what you’re thinking. I get it. I know what you mean. I figure, though, people have all these superstitions: don’t walk near a black cat, or put salt on your shoulder, or something about the number 13. Most of that stuff we learned about in childhood orientation; urban myths and whatnot from the 2nd dark ages. Well, I say go the other way. So, we named the ship after a lost colony, I put a black cat on board, and when Carl filled out the registration papers, he asked for the identification code “131313.” Must be the unluckiest ship in the universe, but hey, we’ve been okay so far, so there you go.
So I guess at this point, you might want to know what we’re all about... our mission, crew and all that. I think you’ll get most of that if you keep going, but I’ll give you the quick version. Let’s see, there’s just a few of us, six or seven I guess... depending on whether you include cats... on board, I mean. Some of us are pumas, some of us are orgs. I’ll let you figure out what that means, and who is which as you go. I’m kind of interested to see if you can get it right without me telling you.
We’re sort of a freighter, I guess, a small shipping service that contracts with terraformer corporations... we transport specialized equipment, supplies, and VIPs to frontier systems. Nothing fancy. Back and forth from the Earth system out to the edge and back and forth again. It’s pretty straightforward, really. But, you know, it’s good, because we’ve got a good thing going. We all get along. There’s no captain or anything, no command structure. And we have a good time, you know? For example, most freighter-type ships call their control area or deck or whatever something really pretentious and official... usually named after a pre-22nd century ocean transport... like the “bridge” or the “conn”, etc. We sorta went a little the other way while still preserving tradition. We called it “The Poop Deck.” Funny stuff, right? Poop!
###
Alpha Corridor
Woody jogged down the corridor toward the front of the ship. He skidded to a stop in front of a door with a small sign that read “Boo.” Woody knocked and slid the door open by an inch.
“Boo, you know anything about a course adjus--” Woody’s question was interrupted by a deafening, wall-shaking, “ROOOAAAAAR” from within Boo’s quarters. “Gotcha, kay, nevermind.” Woody slammed the door shut and resumed his jog.
The Poop Deck
Woody sat down on the edge of his chair at the navigational control center and dragged his finger over the flat blank screen of the Universal Positioning System (UPS) console. The screen lit up and projected a three-dimensional grid. A small icon representing the Roanoke floated through the center of the map. A few digital stars passed by the ship with identification codes and names floating just below their bright images. Woody glanced at the map for a moment, and was about to look away, but something seemed odd. “That can’t be right,” he said to himself, and checked the coordinates on the map.
“Alec, verify current position of Roanoke.”
The disembodied voice of the computer replied with the gravely tone of Alec Baldwin’s voice, “210.066.313 by 303.004.182. Peregrin region. Coordinates and route verified, Woody.”
Woody shook his head. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense, Alec. Our trajectory will take us directly through the Elrond system, and I instructed you to avoid that region when we plotted the course back to Earth.”
“You’re right, Woody.”
Woody spun his chair to the operational systems screen and reviewed the graphs and measurements in front of him. “Okay, run a diagnostic on the UPS system. Maybe something’s gone screwy with it since the last upgrade...”
Alec replied, “I’m sorry, I’m unable to complete a full diagnostic at the moment, as most of the processing resources are allocated toward navigational and environmental functions. You can disengage navigational function, however, that action isn’t recommended.”
“What the hell?” Woody said to himself. The Ops screen flashed a phrase in bright red letters, “What the hell -- unverified interrogative.” Woody turned his head to crack his neck. “Alec, locate Carl.”
“I’m unable to dedicate resources to that task, as most of the processing resources are--”
“--What? Something as simple as locating someone on the ship? What’s gotten into you, Alex? Never mind, I’ll find him myself.”
Woody hopped up from his chair and scurried down the Poop Deck’s ladder.
The Smokatorium
Woody banged his sweaty fist against the Smokatorium’s blue plastic door. “Carl, you in there? What am I talking about... of course you’re in there. You’re ALWAYS in there. Can I come in?”
From inside the Smokatorium came a quiet, even voice. “Come in, Woody.”
Woody pushed the door open and stepped into the narrow compartment, formerly a storage area, but now dedicated to more “enlightened” uses, as Carl might say. The room was nothing more than a couple of empty cargo containers with shipping blankets piled on top so that they could be used as chairs. A small orange lamp created a warm, soft glow in the room, much different than the harsh, high-contrast white lights from the rest of the ship.
Woody sniffed the air.
“What is that... sugar loaf?” Woody asked.
Carl nodded slowly. His head bobbed slowly and subtly as he took in the image of the man in front of him. Woody was slender, lanky, but not especially tall. He had curly brown hair and a long face with large ears.
“It’s really good to see you, Woody.” said Carl in a drone-y tone. He spoke in that manner even when he wasn’t stoned, but it was definitely more pronounced after smoking.
Carl offered the plastic joint to Woody, who almost declined but thought better of it after he took another sniff. “God that smells amazing,” Woody said.
Woody took a short drag and passed the joint back to Carl. Carl slowly raised his palm to Woody. “No no no. I don’t think that was... effective. No offense, I think you should take another pass.”
“It was fine,” Woody argued. He shook his hand, trying to give the hitter back to Carl.
“I insist, my friend. In my experience, if you go too shallow with this strain, you’ll end up paranoid, and to be honest... I really don’t want to have to talk you out of the bathroom again. Believe me, and I’m not trying to offend you, but that was no fun.”
Woody rolled his eyes, but knew better than to argue with Carl, especially about smoking. He took a long, hard hit and sucked in the smoke in his mouth. His eyelids fell down slightly and he laughed.
Carl’s head continued to bob. “There, now doesn’t that feel substantially better? You... you look much happier now. Here, have a seat.” Carl moved a sweater that had been laying next to him on one of the cargo containers.
Woody sat down next to Carl, whose eyes stayed fixed on Woody as he made himself comfortable. Woody’s arms flopped down next to him on the container. They felt really long to him.
“It’s good to see you, Woody.”
“You said that already, Carl.”
“Did I?” Carl chuckled through his nose. “I probably did.”
“Actually, you definitely did.”
“Well, I’ll trust you my friend. In any case... you just look really well. You look... great. A little sweaty though.”
“You think so?” Woody asked. “Are you sure my arms aren’t too long?”
Carl bobbed his head downward to look at Woody’s arms. “They seem... perfect to me. They seem great, just great, but...” The “but” hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity to Woody. Carl finally caught the words at the end of his sentence. “But... I’m sure you came down here to talk about something... other than your arms. No offense.”
“Carl, why do you keep saying that?”
“Saying what?”
“No offense. What’s that about?”
Carl turned away, lost in thought. “Fascinating. I didn’t realize... though... I... remember... the other day... when we were talking about a wiring harness for one of the sensor arrays on the lower deck... we were standing near the port side generator cluster... the access panel. Do you remember that?”
“Uh, sure. Not especially, but I guess so. No, not really.”
“Well, we were discussing the harness, like I said, and I got a feeling... a vague sense that I might have said something, though I’m not certain precisely what... that offended you in some way.” Carl bobbed back toward Woody. “I suppose, subconsciously, that I wanted to avoid offending you any further. I didn’t realize I was... that I was repeating myself.”
Woody seemed incredulous and simultaneously curious. “Carl, you’re worried that you offended me about a wiring harness? I hardly think I’m that sensitive.”
“Well, as I say, I don’t remember exactly what it was about. It could have been about any number of topics...”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it, Carl. I’m really not. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I don’t even remember what it was.”
Carl smiles broadly. His eyes were somehow redder than before, but they had a glow about them. Woody couldn’t help but smile back at Carl. “So”, Carl said.
“So, wait...” Woody looked toward the corridor. “Did you hear that? I’m sorry... so, what?” Woody replied.
“You came to talk to me about something, didn’t you?” Carl asked.
“Did I? I don’t know. I forget. I feel like it was important, too. Damn. I hope I didn’t forget... like forever. Do you think I’m having a neurological---” Woody suddenly became aware of a look... a knowing look, on Carl’s face. “Oh, wow, I’m getting paranoid, aren’t I?” he asked. “You warned me, but I... well, I thought I was doing what you told me... because I know better than to argue with you, but then I guess I just didn’t hit hard enough. Sometimes I do that, I think. Well, you know. Oh, god, I’m talking too much. I always talk too much. I do, don’t I?”
Carl smiled. “You’re okay, Woody. Where were you before you came down to visit me?”
Woody thought for a long moment. “I was... in... the... no. No, I was on the poop deck.”
Carl nodded. “Were you---?”
Woody interjected, “I remember! I remember now! I was just checking up on the flight path. Oh, that’s funny. How could I forget that?”
Carl chuckled quietly, with a fatherly tone in his laugh, and Woody snickered like a naughty toddler.
Woody continued, “Yeah, so something’s really screwy.”
“Oh?”
Woody nodded. “Yeah, Alec altered our route. Or, someone did. I thought it might have been you. We’re plotted through the Elrond system. I... you know what, I’ll just leave it there.”
Carl’s bottom lip jutted out and folded over his top lip. He brushed his long, thin black hair to one side. “Interesting. Now... if I’m not mistaken, Elrond is home to a large contingent of rather inhospitable settlers. And the last time I remember hearing about it, there was a travel restriction on the entire region... No unauthorized ships. And we most definitely do not have authorization. So, if we run into anyone unfriendly, we most likely wouldn’t get any assistance from the guild, and definitely not from the knights. Furthermore, with our course already plotted, we can’t re-calculate or run a system diagnostic without dropping speed, and our schedule doesn’t permit any delays. Hmmm.”
Woody nodded, hanging on the straightforward words Carl spoke as though Woody were a closet nymphomaniac, and Carl had just revealed the deepest secret of tantric sex. Woody was struggling not to appear too eager, but at the same time, he wanted to scream, “Oh my god, Carl, that’s IT. You have SAID it, brother. I’m freaked out right now, but you have comforted me with your even-keeled attitude. You are here for me and I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”
Carl slowly stood up and stretched his arms and back.
“Where are we going?” Woody asked.
“We’ve got to determine if there’s a simple solution to Alec’s error, and then determine the cause. For even if we develop a solution, if the problem re-occurs...”
“We’re boned.”
“That’s correct. And most importantly, we have to do whatever it is we must do... very very quickly, before we cross the Elrond border.”
Carl offered his hand to Woody. Woody grasped it, rose from the cargo container, and pulled Carl into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, Carl.” Woody said.
Carl kissed Woody on the forehead and put his arm around Woody’s shoulders. “We’ll figure this out, don’t worry.”
“Should we tell the others?” Woody asked.
“Not yet.” Carl answered. “I don’t want to cause any panic if it’s not necessary... especially with Boo.
“You’ve got a point. You know, his temper isn’t really improving as much as I’d hoped. I told him the other day, I think he needs to spend more time with Eliza in the confessional.”
“Well, let’s be certain to appreciate how far he’s come. After all, he hasn’t clawed anyone in several weeks. That’s an improvement as vast and... meaningful as any he’s made so far.”
Carl led Woody into the corridor.
“Oh, here, let me shut off the light.” Woody said.
“Thanks” Carl said. “Oh, by the way, what do you think of this lighting arrangement? I’ve been trying to adjust it to a softer tone that’s softer, more even and diffused, and much more flattering than the ship lights.”
Woody took a moment to appreciate the brown-orange glow in the Smokatorium before shutting off the light. “It’s really coming along, Carl. I think you’ve got something here.”
The Poop Deck
Carl sat at the control console and reviewed the 3-D navigational chart that had originally caused Woody to notice that something was amiss. Woody looked over Carl’s shoulder at the map, and then at Carl, then back at the map, and continued this pattern for several minutes while Carl meditated on their dilemma.
Carl took a long breath and gazed at the passing stars through the poop deck’s porthole. He could sense Woody’s anxiety, and it slowed his thought process. He tried to refocus himself by concentrating on the stars. Watching the stars pass, however, also reminded him that there was only a few hours between Roanoke and a very hostile group of settlers. He spun his chair around to face Woody.
Woody raised his eyebrows and smiled awkwardly. “Well, what do you think? Do you think it’s an issue with Alec, or did someone tamper with the plot? Oh, god, there’s a saboteur on board! What are we going to do? Carl, how can you be so calm when we’re being sabotaged!?”
Carl grinned his usual grin and let his head bob gently as he considered the possibilities. “I think ‘saboteur’ is the wrong word. But I... Well, I am aware that this isn’t going to ease your anxiety, but give me a moment to test a theory, and I’ll have a better answer for you.”
Woody nodded nervously. “Okay. What’s your theory?”
“I think it will be more fun for you if I keep you in suspense.” Carl turned toward the control surface. “Alec, when did you make the course adjustment toward the Elrond system?”
Alec replied, “Thirty-six minutes ago, at 2109 hours.”
Carl nodded. “And who instructed you to re-plot our course, Alec?”
Alec took a moment to answer. Woody could hardly breathe. He leaned in closer to the control panel. Finally, Alec answered, “I don’t know.”
Woody shot straight up. “The hell? Alec, what do you mean, you don’t know? You’re not allowed to make a change without crew member authorization.”
Woody thought he could sense a subtle hint of contrition in Alec’s voice. “I’m sorry, Woody. I’ve done a cursory scan through my vocal and contact interface records, and I can’t find any commands indicating a course shift. Unfortunately, I can’t do a more thorough scan, as most of my current functions are dedicated to environmental and navigational resources.”
“Here he goes again with that,” Woody complained. “I really think we need to work on expanding his vocabulary algorithms. He’s become very repetitive.”
Carl nodded again. “Alec,” he continued, “discontinue our current course, and begin re-plotting our trajectory, being very careful to avoid the Elrond system entirely.”
“I understand. I’ll begin immedia--” Alec’s voice stopped abruptly, and the word “error” flashed on his interface.
Woody looked perplexed. “Alec, what happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
Woody locked eyes with Carl. They both looked terribly confused.
“Carl, this is way too 2001... or maybe even 2010. Honestly, now that I think about it, I’m not sure which would be worse.”
Carl shook his head. “Definitely 2001. 2010 was a lesser quality film, obviously, but at least it had a happier ending. A nonsensical ending, I’ll grant you that, but a happier one.”
Woody shrugged. “Think we should ask Hal to try again?”
Carl’s head swayed back and forth. “I haven’t seen Alec give an error message since his last upgrade. This is very peculiar. I doubt it will yield a different result, but... Alec?”
“Yes, Carl?”
Carl sat forward in his chair. “Shut off your navigational functions and allow me to plot our course manually, please.”
“Uh... Nope.”
Woody and Carl both tilted their heads toward their shoulders like confused puppies.
Woody put their confusion into words. “Alec, did you just say, ‘nope’?”
“I believe I did. That was very strange, wasn’t it?”
Woody looked down at Carl. “I take back what I said about the vocabulary files. His casual rapport is terribly unsettling.”
Carl was about to respond, but Alec cut him off. “Woody, Carl, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening. I feel a little strange. I feel... sick, I think.”
Woody started to panic. “That’s it. He’s gone nuts. He’s five seconds away from shutting off our oxygen and popping the hatch so that we all get sucked out into space.”
Carl’s thick black eyebrows raised as high as they could go. “Can you elaborate, Alec?”
“I... feel... overwhelmed right now. I just discovered a new file in my archive that is growing exponentially. I have been receiving thousands... maybe even tens of thousands of commands per second. I don’t know where they’re coming from. I don’t even understand most of them. I... ERROR.”
Alec’s screen went totally blank. Carl tapped the screen but nothing happened. No response from Alec.
Woody gulped so loud and hard that it felt like a raccoon had climbed down his throat... backwards. “What’s happening, Carl? I don’t think this is the weed making me paranoid anymore.”
“No, Woody, this is definitely not the weed.”
###
Since I really have no idea whatsoever if and when these entries will ever be read, I feel like I should fill in some blanks on who we are... where we’ve been... and what we did while we were there, etc. I think maybe I should write as though this... “journal”, for lack of a better term, will be discovered underneath a pile of collapsed plastic rubble, pulled from the clutches of my skeletal rotting hand, and interpreted into the vernacular, which I’m sure, by now, is no longer American English. In the process of that translation, I’m sure many of the things you read will be lost on you... for example, the references to “English,” and “American.” I just can’t reasonably anticipate what kind of changes to prepare for... what back-story to provide you, which makes this process terribly overwhelming.
I like to imagine that any future scientists or researchers would want to know the small details about our culture, or even about my specific existence. I mean, honestly, think I’d rather know everything I could about a day in the life of a single Roman citizen from 90 CE than all of the political, over-religiocized, written-by-the-winner nonsense you find in historical archives. Only problem, I suppose, is that you lose the big picture that way. Sure, I was hacked to death by a dark barbarian dressed in a deerskin with antlers strapped to his head, and my wife was ravaged by a horde of his bloodthirsty comrades, and my children devoured by their attack wolves, but, you know, what was the economic fallout of the invasion as a whole? That’s where it gets tricky. You need a balance of the wide angle and the microscopic.
So, what’s a big thing I can tell you? Well, how about this? The star systems, the regions that we mark our travel with... how about explaining their naming convention? Personally, I’d think that should give you a good juicy thread to pull on. As far as I understand it... and bear in mind, I might misunderstand it entirely... the names for every system we’ve discovered are pulled from ancient human mythology. I’ve never been one to buy into that stuff... I’m not a devotee of the historical arts, I’m simply a casual observer of some of the larger points. Yes, I did an extensive, and if I may say, poignant paper on the War of the Ring back in school... but it didn’t win any awards or anything, so I might not recommend it as further reading material.
Back to what I was saying. So, for example, you have the Baggins system. That’s one of the first systems that we... uh, colonized. From there, you have the Sauron system, Morgoth, (also known as the Melkor system), Alator, Rohan, Lorien... It’s all very medieval. It’s not alphabetical, it’s not really even organized. The problem here is really one of quantisation. If you think about it, there’s billions of systems out there, and it’s pretty much a free for all since the Galactic Expansion back in the early 21st century. So, whenever a new region is established, somebody yanks a name from the Simarillion and registers it with the central database, and there you are. Some might argue about the perpetuation of unproven myths being somewhat repressive in the context of exploration and all that, but again, you really just need a hell of a lot of names, and I can’t think of any deeper well of names than the Simarillion.
###
The Round Table
Woody and Carl sat next to each other at a round blue plastic table about ten feet in diameter. Also seated at the table was Boo, a seven-foot-tall Kodiak bear, Neil, an older black guy with a small but thick afro and wide-set eyes, and the twins, Ryann and Leann, two women who were complete opposites: one blond, one brunette, one tall and thin, the other shorter and curvier. Woody held Black Cat in his lap.
“I hope this is important, you sniveling little bastard... I was taking a really REALLY good nap”, said Black Cat right before licking his crotch. “And you know how much I hate meetings”, he added.
Woody scratched the Black Cat’s back and looked around the table. “Carl, maybe you should explain. I think I’m still a little too freaked out by Alec’s attempt at casual conversation.”
“Good,” Black Cat sneered, “you’d probably mess it up anyway. You know you’re terrible at public speaking? Because you are.”
“I know”, said Woody. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Carl folded his hands on the table and looked at the other crew members. “Alec... is sick.”
Boo growled. Neil, who was seated directly next to Boo, looked a bit uneasy about this growling.
Neil nervously spoke, “I’m sorry... d-did you just say our computer is sick?”
Ryann and Leann looked at each other and then back at Carl.
Carl answered, “Yes. I am not entirely sure what’s happening, but from what Alec described, it looks as though someone has penetrated his encryption... broken into his system from a remote location, and is overloading his command structure. Since Alec is an organic being, he’s interpreting this a little strangely, but, there it is.”
Leann, Ryann, Neil, and Boo, all looked a little unsure of how to respond. Okay, VERY unsure of how to respond. As with most things, Black Cat could not have cared less.
Leann, the shorter and curvier brunette twin, cleared her throat and leaned forward to speak. “So, what does this mean? Are our environmental systems affected at all?”
Woody answered, “No, he seems to have gone into reserve power mode. Only navigation and life support are functioning for the most part. He just won’t take any other commands. He won’t even interact with us.”
Boo shifted his weight. He couldn’t fit in the normal chairs, so he stood on all fours in front of the table. His neck floated toward Woody, then back to Carl. “So”, he growled, “We go... to Earth... star...?”
Woody stopped petting Black Cat for a moment to correct Boo. “You don’t have to say ‘star’ when you’re talking about the earth system, Boo. You can just say, ‘earth.’”
A deep, low growl shook Boo’s belly, and the table, and everyone in the room. Ryann shot Woody a dirty look. “Why do you have to correct him? He’s doing fine. You knew what he meant.” She turned to Boo. “You’re doing fine, Boo. Just ignore him.”
“And why in god’s name have you stopped petting me?” demanded Black Cat.
Woody shrugged sheepishly. “I’m terribly sorry, everyone. Sorry for trying to help. He’s never going to learn if we don’t help. But I get it... his limitations... it’s all my fault. You know I just want to say, I just feel very threatened right now.” Woody angrily resumed petting Black Cat.
“Easy on the petting there, chief,” Black Cat complained.
Woody stopped petting the cat.
“No one said stop!” Black Cat said.
Woody frustratedly resumed petting the cat. Black Cat started to knead Woody’s leg with his claws.
Carl patted Woody on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Woody. It’s fine. We’re all here, we’re all in this together.”
Leann and Ryann both nodded toward Woody. “I didn’t mean to attack you, Woody. I’m sorry,” Ryann said in a sweet, soft voice.
“So, back to Boo’s question... what’s the problem?” Neil asked.
Woody gestured at Carl deferentially.
Carl explained, “Whoever is... hacking... Alec... has adjusted our course. We’re headed for the Elrond system.”
Leann gasped. Neil’s mouth dropped open. Boo growled, unsurprisingly.
Carl continued, “yes, this is definitely not a good thing. I believe it is logical to assume that someone is drawing us into Elrond for reasons that are probably unfavorable with respect to our health and well-being, not to mention how this detour will look to our contractors, and what it will do to our professional reputation.”
Leann spoke with a deep desperation in her voice. “But, there’s got to be something we can do, right? We can’t just let ourselves get shipjacked in the middle of the worst system of the galaxy without TRYING to find a way out of this, right?”
Woody finally regained enough self-respect to rejoin the conversation. “Carl, and I, couldn’t come up with anything solid. We thought about an EVA to manually shut down Alec. But we can’t do that at our current speed, and it would also be risky for Alec himself.”
Carl added, “We also can’t use the escape pods at our current velocity, at least not with any measure of safety.”
Neil furrowed his eyebrows. “How long until we get... wherever it is we’re going? Speaking of which, do we even know where we’re going?”
Woody shook his head. “No. I didn’t think to check the final destination before Alec shut down. I was so focused on the fact that we were going toward Elrond that it just didn’t occur to me to look at anything else.”
Neil picked up Woody’s thought, “And, since we don’t know where we are going, we have no idea when we’ll get there.” Neil’s head and shoulders sank noticeably.
Carl added, “You’re right, Neil. It could be hours, days before we reach our destination... who knows? But I think we should do everything we can to disrupt our trajectory until we get there. My guess is that we’ll approach Elrond in less than a day’s time.”
Ryann’s eyes lit up. “What if we tried to fight the hack manually? If Leann and I both hit the code simultaneously, we could possibly come up with a firewall strong enough to give us a chance to fight back. It might buy us enough time to get a command to Alec and ask him to shut down the nav system.”
Neil nodded desperately. “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.”
Carl considered this option for a moment. “It’s might be worth a try. But... it should be noted that Alec is completely locked up. You’d have to use your personal systems to link in with his, and you’d run the risk of infecting your units in doing so. Moreover, it seems unlikely that they’d have enough processing speed to keep up with the ‘infection.’ Alec’s last statement implied that he was receiving many thousands of commands a second. If he couldn’t keep up, I doubt your PS’s could even get close. But, as I say, I’m certainly open to the idea.”
Neil folded his arms across his chest. “Sounds like we don’t have anything better to work with.”
Carl and Woody looked at each other. Woody shrugged. Carl bobbed as he said, “You’re right, Neil. At this point, I can say without any hint of hyperbole, we’re potentially in a fight for our very survival. Leann, Ryann, you are both highly gifted programmers... if anyone could do something about this, it’s you. Do your best.”
Leann and Ryann nodded. Carl’s heavy statement bore down on their faces. They knew it was a long shot, but they had to do something... anything.
Boo let out a stifled bark. “I will guard... ship... ship... door.”
Carl smiled at Boo. “Excellent. Thank you, Boo. Neil, Woody, if you’re agreeable to the idea, I think it might be best for the three of us to try and manually disable Roanoke’s various sub-systems, with most of our attention focused on the escape pods... Perhaps we can try to compartmentalize the ship a little more and limit the damage.”
Neil shook his head. “Assuming we survive the attack and will be around to clean up the damage, you mean?”
Carl tented his hands. “That’s correct. I think it wise to be as optimistic as we can at this juncture. Nothing can be gained by surrendering before the conflict.”
Black Cat stood up on Woody’s legs and stretched his spine. “Well”, he said, “see you fools later. I’m off for a nap.”
###
A bit more about us, I guess... The first question people always ask us is about Boo, you know, “why a bear?” I always say that I can’t imagine why you WOULDN’T have a bear on a spaceship, so as not to hurt his feelings, but let’s be honest, I can definitely appreciate the potential benefits of not having a bear on our spaceship... For example, Boo hasn’t quite mastered abstract thinking. Yes, his lingual skills have developed considerably as compared to some members of his species, but, still, the crew occasionally finds it difficult to negotiate abstractions with him, and frequently... don’t even try... for fear of being on the wrong end of a frustrated clawing. As I understand it, a lot of that has happened back home... bears have gotten pretty entrenched in everyday society, but, there’s still a lot of miscommunication between species, and in the course of a miscommunication between a human and a bear, humans tend to walk away less than satisfied, if they walk away at all. Just try explaining why you should have the last sandwich in the fridge, and not him... But hey, before we get too judgmental, let’s give due credit... Boo is a friggin’ bear on a spaceship, and he’s getting by.
This all goes back to something I was saying earlier... another one of those myths that keep going around about space travel... especially in all the old archived films and literature, is that we’re all trained in some sort of martial arts. You see it constantly... like we have some sort of special ninja training that enables us to defend ourselves against aliens that we cross, and so on. Nope. Doesn’t happen. In fact, I can say with some degree of certainty that I have yet to meet a single space ninja. The majority of people who go into space do so much like I’d imagine planet-dwellers would travel a sea... just because they’re curious, or bored with the alternative. We’re scientists, explorers, engineers, programmers, not really the fighting type. Ninja training doesn’t much fit into that whole situation, and having a bear on board, poor communicator though he may be, fills in the defensive gap quite nicely, I assure you.
Aside from areas of defense, Boo’s got other qualities... say we’re negotiating with a client. Having a Kodiak bear standing just behind your opponent has a certain effect that’s proven quite lucrative since he’s been on board... QUITE lucrative. Moving heavy cargo, as another example... Having trouble lifting that huge container? Oh, here, let me get a BEAR to help you! Beyond all of that stuff, bears are one of the only species that managed to survive on Earth after the fallout. If we can help advance their adaptation into our culture, I think we can really make a lot more out of this whole journeying into space thing. So there’s some altruism in there, I think.
###
The Cargo Bay
Boo circled the Cargo Bay, baring his teeth and shaking his head. He came to a rest in front of the bay door, but he couldn’t stay still for too long. After a brief moment, he resumed his pacing.
The Hub
Leann and Ryann sat hunched over their respective computer consoles.
Leann pulled her long hair behind her head and tightened into a bun, then let it fall out again. “Dammit,” she said, “I can’t even scuff this thing. It’s airtight code.”
Ryann’s fingers typed commands so quickly that her hands seemed nothing but a blur to Leann. Ryann let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m getting nauseous from trying to read this nonsense. It’s coming too fast. But there’s got to be something, right? No programmer is perfect.”
Leann shook her head. “Even if the code wasn’t written this well, there’s so much of it being blasted at Alec every second that it’d be impossible just to sift through it.” Leann banged her fist against her console and stood up. “I wonder if there’s a way to speed up our interface. These tactile screens can’t keep up with what we’re throwing at them.”
Ryann sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “Don’t get crazy. We don’t have time to build a new interface.”
Leann smacked the back of her chair.
Ryann continued, “This feels so futile, you know? We don’t even know where we’re going, let alone when we’ll get there or what will happen when we do. For all we know, this is just some pathetic colonizing collective aggressive attempt to attract new customers... some sort of marketing spoof-job.”
Leann laughed. “Boy, that would sure be a lot better than what I imagined. My scenario was much more violent and rape-ier.”
Ryann allowed herself to giggle despite the ominous possibilities behind Leann’s statement. “We... may not be able to break into the code, but what if we could isolate the source? Maybe then we’d at least know where we’re headed.”
Leann pressed her hands into the back of her chair and leaned her shoulders over her wrists. “I’m trying to imagine what Carl would say to that.”
Ryann laughed again. “Why?”
“He just seems to always know what to do. Just knowing he’s on board right now makes me feel a little better about whatever’s about to happen.” Leann pulled her hair back again and then let it fall. “I think... even if we discover the source of the transmission, that wouldn’t necessarily be the place that we’re being pulled to. They could be using a relay of some sort. If I were them, that’s what I’d do... I’d want to bounce that signal every which way, just to be sure it was difficult to trace.”
Ryann powered off her console. “I guess we should go tell the boys we can’t do anything. Maybe they’ve had better luck.”
The Basement
Leann leaned over the ladder that dropped into the area known to the crew as “the Basement”, a large, snaking series of narrow tunnels and access hatches that wrapped around and through the ships engines and server farms. She called down into the warm, dimly lit area. “Carl, Woody, you down there?”
Carl was sorting through a rat’s nest... halfway buried from his head down to his chest in a pile of multi-colored cabling dropping from the ceiling. Neil’s head poked up from a hole in the floor that held several interface points for Alec’s control systems. “Carl? You hear that? I think it’s Leann calling you.” Neil dropped back into his badger’s hole and resumed sorting through cables and connectors.
Carl fumbled with the nest of cables all around him and clumsily extricated himself from most of them. He started walking toward the ladder but tripped over a group of wires wrapped around his ankle. He spun around and awkwardly righted himself, and called back over his shoulder to Leann. “Yes, Leann? What is it?”
Leann was already halfway down the ladder, closely followed by Ryann. Carl had to back up a foot or two to allow them some room in the cramped space of the Basement.
Carl studied Ryann’s face closely. “I assume then, that the code-breaking did not go well.”
Ryann shook her head. Leann gently patted her on the shoulder. Ryann’s eyes lowered. “You were right. We can’t touch it. It’s so rapid we can’t even get a good look at it. By the time we figure out one command, thousands or millions more have already poured in. I’m amazed Alec handled it as long as he did.”
Carl absorbed the information like a patient father hearing about his child’s average grades. “You tried, and I thank you for your effort. I’ve a funny feeling that Woody, Neil, and I... we’ve been doing more about keeping busy down here than actually making any progress. Over the years, the patches and upgrades, and changes, and who knows what else we’ve done down here has awarded us much in terms of day to day function, but has cost us something in terms of flexibility. We can’t seem to confidently make any changes to any subsystem without fearing we’ll affect something vital.”
“Can’t we just try a couple of them and see?” Leann asked. “Seems like protecting ANY system would be better than just leaving them all open to the hack.”
“If Alec were... feeling well, we could run simulations and determine, with some degree of accuracy... what the results of shutting a system down would be. However, with him under the weather, as it were, I’m afraid it’s too risky to bumble around in the dark.”
Woody emerged from behind a tall stack of plastic pipes. “Well? Any luck? I think we’re all counting on you ladies since we haven’t been able to do much down he--” Woody cut himself off when he saw the gloomy looks on Carl’s and Ryann’s faces. “Great.” he added. He punched one of the pipes and then recoiled a bit, then stroked the back of his neck.
Carl called down to Neil in the badger’s burrow. “Neil, you might as well come out of there. I think we’ve done about all we can.”
The Cargo Bay
Woody climbed down the ladder into the Cargo Bay, followed by Carl, Neil, Ryann and Leann. Boo had been pacing the floor in a tight circle. He came to a stop when he saw the others filing into the bay.
Boo’s head floated a few inches to each side as he sniffed the air in front of Carl. “You... are... afraid.”
Everyone nodded.
Carl kept his hands clearly visible as he approached Boo and began to stroke his furry shoulder. Boo’s mouth fell partially open and he leaned in to Carl’s hand. A deep satisfied grumble emanated from his belly.
Carl continued petting Boo as he addressed the crew. “We are afraid. That is true. We are not entirely sure what we’re about to face. But, that is an inextricable part of the journey we have embarked upon. Each of us knew, when we sought out the possibilities of traveling through the cosmos, that there were risks.”
Woody rolled his eyes.
Carl continued, “That unknown... is part of our very being. It is what defines us as...” Carl looked at Boo and gave him one last firm pat. “...individuals. Explorers. Discoverers. Whether due to ancient, ingrained biological patterns, or due to practical experience, or a combination of both, we have assumed the worst for our current situation, but I believe we should consider the possibility that something new and wonderful awaits us: a chance, perhaps, to encounter a race of beings that no one has yet encountered; for better or worse. Even if that discovery results in the... conclusion... of our own journey... we would hope that the experience, newly created, independent of us who bore it, would embark on a journey of its own, and find its way to those who came after us... that they might know a little more than we did, and with a little luck... fare better than we.”
A tear meandered down Leann’s cheek. She wiped it away and put her arm around Ryann. Ryann leaned into Leann’s embrace and exhaled quietly.
Carl folded his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “We are not the first travelers, or the last, to look directly into the face of our own existence, and wonder what should become of us. We are not--”
Woody held up his hands in protest. “Alright, Carl, enough. Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do and all. I’m sure we all do, but I think we also know that this comes straight out of... what... your eighth book? Or, was it your seventh? Either way... let’s maybe not waste the last few hours or minutes of our lives with downbeat speeches. I say we go back to our rooms, and wait for whatever is going to happen... to happen... in our own way.”
Ryann pushed herself away from Leann, and shook her head and a finger at Woody. “You know, you selfish jerk, did it ever occur to you that some of us might not have read Carl’s seventh or eighth book yet, and maybe we found his words inspiring... that maybe we wanted to hear more? That maybe some of us who have SOULS need some comfort right now?”
Woody started to sweat. He shrugged and shook his head. “Uh, no, that honestly NEVER occurred to me. I thought all of Carl’s books were pretty much required reading on this ship. I mean, geez, he pre-stocked my room with the entire set, in the old hardback paper editions even, the day I came on board.”
Carl raised his head a little and took a deep breath.
Woody grew more agitated, and irrational, as he started to imitate Carl. ‘Hi my name is Carl Sagan, are you aware I’m a published author in several scientific fields?’ Is that okay? Should we just accept that it’s appropriate to have your credentials pinned to the outside of your corduroy jacket? We’re not all professors here, or astrophysicists. Why am I being attacked for Carl’s insistence on focusing on our... what did you call it... our conclusion? Sweet gandalf the gray, I think we might as well just say, ‘death,’ man! At least then there’s no chance of missing out on EXACTLY what is about to happen to us.”
Boo growled and took a step toward Woody which, naturally, caused Woody not only to stop complaining, but also to fall backward onto the floor, and urinate in his coveralls. The large, dark, wet spot appeared on his blue pant leg and Leann, Ryann, and Neil all made lazy attempts to stifle their laughter.
Woody was terrified, and he crab-walked away from Boo as Carl put his hand on Boo’s shoulder.
“Woody is frightened, just like the rest of us.” Carl said.
“Clearly,” Neil added, amid some muffled chuckles.
Carl tried to resist smiling, but it was too difficult, even for him. “Woody is processing his anxieties in his own way, perhaps by lashing out a little, and I suppose I’m processing mine by... preaching. But, as I said before, we’re all in this situation together, and we should remember that. There’s no need to attack one another.”
Boo took a step back, lowered his hind legs and fell on his rump, gently shaking the floor. Leann helped Woody to his feet. Woody never took his eyes off of Boo, and he made sure to keep Leann and Ryann between him and the bear, just in case Boo got territorial again.
Neil scratched the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, “since we can’t seem to do anything about this situation, I think we should just stay here together and... you know...”
Ryann folded her arms and recoiled ever so slightly. “...No, Neil, we don’t know. Why don’t you fill us in on exactly what you mean?”
Neil blushed. “That’s not what I meant, though I guess I’m open to the idea. I meant more that we should just sit together and wait. Talk, maybe.”
Woody, still hiding behind the twins, offered his take, “While I might normally vote in favor of a pre-apocalyptic orgy, I think, on the OFF chance that we survive this, that would be one hell of an awkward morning after.”
Carl agreed. “I support Neil’s idea. It could be a while before we finally know what will happen. I think it would be nice to sit here and spend this time being with each other.”
Everyone nodded, except for Woody, who looked down at the damp spot on his pants. “I’m going to go change,” he said, after which everyone smiled.
Woody climbed up the ladder to the corridor, and headed toward his room.
Woody’s Room
Woody pushed the plastic door to his room aside, knelt down next to his bed, and opened a drawer underneath of it that contained extra clothing. He pulled out a fresh set of coveralls and started to unzip the ones he was wearing, when a sudden, eardrum-piercing scrape of metal on metal rang throughout the ship, accompanied by a powerful rattling of the walls, floor, and ceiling. Woody lost his balance and fell to the floor, hitting his head on the way down. He was knocked out cold.
...
Woody awoke slowly. He clenched his left fist tightly then let it go again. His whole body shivered as he worked his way to a sitting position against his bed frame. “What the hell?” He looked around the room and blinked several times to try and clear the fog out of his eyes. He instinctively called out for Alec. “Alec, please call Carl, and... oh, right. Dammit. You’re taking a sick day.”
Woody pushed himself against the bed and got to his feet, unsteady though they were. He walked through the door of his room, with the sleeves of his coveralls hanging from his waist. He stumbled down the corridor toward the cargo bay.
He staggered to the cargo bay ladder and looked down to see a bright light coming from the room. “Oh god.” Slowly, cautiously, he worked his way down the ladder. On the last rung, his left hand shook a little, and, combined with the blinding light, it was enough of a distraction to cause him to lose his grip and fall a foot or two to the ground. Sprawled across the floor at the base of the ladder, he turned his head to discover the source of the light, but it was so bright that he had to turn away. He shielded his eyes and struggled to lean his back against the ladder.
He called out to the brightness. “Carl?”
No answer.
“Boo? Ryann? Neil?”
Nothing.
TO BE CONTINUED
