Spaceship

The cryotube hissed open, releasing a gout of steam, and he sat up, blinking groggily. Fortunately, the same computer that had so rudely woken him up was considerate enough to keep the lights dim to give his eyes a chance to adjust, but still, it had interrupted a marvelous dream that now swiftly faded away, and for that he wasn’t sure he could forgive it.

“What’s on the agenda, Dolly?” he croaked, his throat rough from dehydration. He coughed to relieve it. Dehydration only happened after prolonged periods of hibernation, so he had to wonder if the computer had allowed him to sleep in, or if he hadn’t met his hydration requirements yesterday.

The computer paused before answering, and he smiled to himself. He’d confused it again. After decades of AI, it still couldn’t grasp the concept of nicknames.

“Oxygen level decreasing,” it finally replied. ” Nitrogen level has risen point zero five percent. The fault has been traced to oxygen generator designated Alpha Seven.”

“Where’s that?” he asked, sliding carefully off the bed, just in case there was prolonged hibernation that induced some muscular atrophy.

“I will provide guidance,” the computer replied as he sighed, relieved to see that his legs worked and could support his own weight.

“Send the schematics to that section panel, too,” he said, carefully walking to the closet. He picked out one of the many identical jumpsuits hanging inside and paused thoughtfully. He couldn’t remember ever having to recalibrate the atmospheric systems. They were built to operate for centuries without maintenance, to eliminate the potential of human error disrupting their carefully balanced systems. But then, he shrugged. Nothing was built to last forever, he supposed. Not even life support.

Grabbing his tool kit, he stepped up to the door and scowled to discover that he had to wait a whole second for it to register his presence before opening. But that was a minor inconvenience that he could address later. It wasn’t as if a sticky door was as life-threatening as a faulty air system.

A lightbee greeted him just outside his door and immediately set off at his pace, leading the way. As he followed it through the ship, he greeted everyone around him but as usual, there was no reply, so he just shrugged and kept going. The bee led him into the heart of the ship, a place that he hadn’t yet needed to visit, and the moment the bulkhead slid aside, he hesitated. The area beyond was unexpectedly dim, to the point of needing a flashlight to see, and threw him momentarily off guard. He was used to the other sections of the ship being brightly lit but after only a second, he recovered from the alienness of the gloom and pulled his flashlight from the kit.

The bee’s glow was hardly enough to even show on the complex network of pipes, cables, control boxes and valves cramming the tightly packed walls, but it still confidently led him forward, knowing where it was going even in the dark. After only a few steps, he wished he could float along just like it did, instead of needing to step over the cables, pipes, junction boxes and valves cluttering the floor, and after a few more giant strides to step over things in a passage never meant to be walked through by humans, he grumbled, “Can we get some more light in here?”

“Illumination in this section is currently at maximum level,” the computer replied through the lightbee, causing it to pulse with each syllable.

He grunted dismally. “Well, there had better be a systems panel in here, otherwise you’re going to have to feed me verbal instructions. This isn’t exactly my expertise, you know.”

“I am aware of your technical training and skill levels,” the computer replied, the pulses barely registering on the equipment.

“All right,” he grumbled, not expecting the computer to elaborate. “Just keep me from tripping.”

“Your continued wellbeing is vital to the success of the mission,” the computer replied.

“I didn’t need an answer,” he complained, carefully watching his step.

The systems panel was deep within what turned out to be a labyrinth of narrow passages between, and often through, complex machinery, situated in a slight, rectangular widening that might have reminded him of a coffin if it wasn’t composed of the same machinery that he’d been squeezing himself through for the past ten minutes. The moment he slipped into the area, the panel light up, immediately displaying the schematics he’d earlier requested. It took a moment to translate the information into things that he understood better, then he called up the diagnostic program to pinpoint the location of the fault, and grunted in disappointment.

“That’s in the aft section,” he muttered. “Where are we now?”

“Current location is Midship, Deck 17, Sector Seven G.”

“Great,” he glumly replied. “So, nowhere close to the fault.”

“This is the only operations panel within the atmospheric apparatus,” the computer told him.

He puffed in exasperation. “You could have mentioned that earlier.”

“The information was irrelevant,” the computer replied.

“Right,” he sighed. “Stupid me for not asking.”

Thankfully, the computer didn’t reply, leaving him in peaceful silence as he studied what he needed to know. Before he tapped out of the panel, he spent a moment regretting not bringing a pad with him to download the information for later use, and mulled over a few times all that he’d learned, to seat it in memory, before saying, “Take me to the precise location of the fault.”

The bee led him off and it was a long, excruciating journey of twists, turns, and sidling along most of the way before it halted, indicating that they had arrived. Outwardly, nothing looked wrong. Identical to every other section that he’d squeezed through, there were no visible leaks, no signs of damage, and even his meter registered no difference in atmospheric mix outside the machinery, which left him no choice except to dig in and inspect every single square inch of the area for anomalies, no matter how minute, a task that he knew, with much trepidation, was going to take hours.

And he proved to be right. It was awkward holding the flashlight at weird angles just to see behind the tightly crammed equipment, but he couldn’t allow anything to go unchecked. After a long, tedious search, it finally occurred to him that he didn’t know if he could do anything once he located the fault, so he asked, “Can you replicate the parts I might need, or are they already in stores?”

“You take the bridge,” came a faint reply. “We get the drive section.”

He froze. That tiny voice echoing through the crevices wasn’t that of the computer. It was faint with distance, and its metallic quality came from careening off the pipes around him. And it wasn’t supposed to be there. He was certain of that.

“You think anyone’s around?” another voice said. This one sounded anxious.

“We’ll soon find out,” a third voice replied. He sounded self-assured. Competent.

“Let’s go,” the first said. Commanding, but not belligerent. The leader? “We don’t have much time. Let’s just get what we came for and get out before that thing hits.”

Get what they came for? Get out? It sounded like they weren’t part of the crew, which meant only one thing. Pirates. There to loot the ship of its resources. He kept still and listened for more, but nothing else came. He didn’t even hear them moving off. But he’d heard enough. Pirates had boarded the colony ship, and he had to repel them.