The tank guide on this ship must sleep cryogenically to look after a long-term trip. The ship is full of scientists who have been subjected to water submersion to survive the voyage. The tank guide would like nothing better than to join them, on points, but the politics of a grand company, such as the one looking after the cryosleep ship, don’t quite work as advertised.
Gary always wanted to be a fish. It was as simple as that, and Gary was a simple guy. The effortless sway that propelled them through the drink, light winking off their scales, the vastness of their oceanic domain—
Gary landed on the cold tile floor with a thud, shivering. And naked.
After several dry heaves and a bout of coughing that he figured for sure would do him in, his breathing eased and the black spots before his eyes mostly dissipated. After a few harsh squawks, he was able to form a sound that resembled a command.
“NANI: status report, please.”
He always dreamed of fish when in cryosleep, which only made it that much harder to face reality when his pod opened and dumped him unceremoniously on the floor, weak and disoriented. Only the cheapest models of cryosleep pods were installed for an Air Breather. Still, Gary was blessedly alone in the pod closet, with no one else to witness his protracted and embarrassing transition back to microgravity and something akin to consciousness.
Emphasis on closet. There was only one cryosleep pod. Because he was the only Air Breather on the ship.
And alone in the closet except for NANI. Who, of course, was everywhere, all the time.
“Greetings, Gary,” NANI answered in a female staccato voice. “Please be very careful following your emergence from extended cryosleep. You need time to adequately readjust to the demands of now being awake.”
Gary tried to stand, but instead collapsed and dry heaved again.
“Gary. Try to keep your heart rate under 100.”
“100?”
“Under 100, Gary.”
With his heart pounding, he took a few deep breaths, to no effect. “What’s the status of the crew, NANI?”
“All 25 senior scientists on the Zeitgeist have remained stable during the last two years. According to their submersion schedule, they are ready for their third and final refiltration.”
Gary managed to sit up. “When do I have to do that?”
“Within the next twelve hours.”
He groaned, then strained and huffed and swore his way into a wobbly, wide-based stance. A headache companionably joined him. He really had to use the bathroom, but couldn’t remember where it was.
Gary rubbed his temples. “NANI, use your floor lights to direct me to the bathroom.”
“Certainly, Gary.” A strip of white lights leading to red lights directed him out the door of the closet and into the hall.
“Gary, there’s one other update.”
Something stirred in the depths of his memory and he managed a small smile. “Right. Contract renewal.” His smile grew. “Finally! I’m up for a promotion which means—”
“A bogie was intercepted on the scanner.”
This was news. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“You were in a vulnerable state.”
He looked up at the ceiling, arms outstretched, still naked. “I’m no less vulnerable right now!”
“Your heart rate is above 100, Gary.”
“For ship’s sake,” he muttered and tried to take another deep, calming breath. To no effect.
“You now have eleven hours until the crew’s refiltration is due.”
“Yes, thank you, NANI.”
“And we have to make a command decision on the bogie.”
“THANK YOU, NANI.”
“You’re welcome, Gary.”
Gary hobbled the rest of the way to the distant bathroom, still cold, still disoriented, still quite a bit nauseous and now very much harassed. Suddenly racked with another coughing fit, he wondered, Why wasn’t I born a fish?
#
After a brief clean up, logging into the mainframe was another protracted activity because Gary couldn’t remember his password. At least he had located his clothes.
Finally, the blue screen of the console in the hall glowed. Lines upon lines of chat scrolled before him and he let it roll through without reading. Two years’ worth of conversation among the Gills while he was in cryosleep. No wonder he never knew what was going on.
That, and they didn’t like him.
Despite his determination to ignore the correspondence, his eyes caught snippets.
–going on five years in this tank with you all
–why can’t we wake the AB and have him upload some different files
–you can do that yourself
–but that’s his job
–you can’t pull him out of cryosleep prematurely
–sure you can
–it might damage his biosystem controls
–like they’re not already damaged
–gargargargargargar
Gary turned away from the screen. Behind him, an aqua glow illuminated the entrance to the Tank room. He sighed and entered.
Along the perimeter of the Tank room, tubes, gauges, and dials decorated the walls, but the centerpiece was a cylinder fifty feet in diameter and three stories tall. Its glass was six inches thick and held back 200,000 gallons of PFC. The scientists inside the Tank were headed to Titan 5 for research, terraforming, and resource prospecting. For the trip, these individuals converted to Gills, living and breathing liquid hyper-oxygenated perfluorocarbon. This PFC bath protected them from the excessive accelerations/decelerations and radiation associated with long-distance space travel.
Gary, the only crew member not in the Tank, was the Tank Upkeep and Renewal Director, colloquially called an Air Breather.
“Fifteen years, right, NANI?” Gary gazed at the Tank with longing.
“Correct, Gary. After fifteen years’ service, a TURD is eligible for promotion to the Tank.”
Gary cringed. “Please don’t use that acronym, NANI.”
“Sorry, Gary. A staff Air Breather is eligible for promotion to the Tank.”
More than anything, Gary wanted to be inside the Tank, swimming like a fish with its occupants, the crew. If he couldn’t realistically become a fish—although genomic mods had come a very long albeit disturbing way—being a Gill was close enough.
“Refiltration due in nine hours,” NANI reminded him.
“Get me a comms line to Dr. Andrews, please,” Gary said.
Embedded neural links in all Gills allowed direct communication. Installed directly into the frontal lobe, the Linqs were instantaneous. Without one, Gary waited by the console, ready to type.
And waited.
Finally, NANI reported back: “Dr. Andrews says he’s busy and that you should speak with his admin.”
Gary studied the body in the Tank directly in front of him, appearing to attend to a hangnail. “He’s floating right in front of me, NANI.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Plus he doesn’t have an admin.”
“How would you like me to respond?”
“Tell him I’d like to discuss my contract.”
Gary watched as the floating figure, dressed in the company’s navy swimtard, gave a graceful dolphin kick and disappeared. Gary sighed and turned back to the console.
“NANI, begin refiltration procedure.”
Gary walked over to the wall where a gallery of giant dials blinked and hoses protruded. Engaging the exclusion hose with the air lock port, he turned a black knob and closed his eyes. A roar like ocean waves filled the room as the Tank’s PFC began to empty, flow through a series of reverse osmosis cleaning chambers, carbon dioxide filters, and re-oxygenation beds, and then pump back into the Tank. If Gary pretended hard enough, he could almost smell salt, feel the sway of the water around him, holding him close. If he could just—
“Gary, Dr. Andrews is ready.”
Gary opened his eyes and felt heat crawl up his cheeks. Of course, Dr. Andrews couldn’t really see him, or see him well, but he felt self-conscious nonetheless. The light refracting properties of the PFC made it difficult for Gills to see through the Tank to the outside world. Even after rehabilitation back to air, extended submersion periods permanently damaged their eyes. Crew after crew of scientists, diplomats, CEOs, and commanders who rehabbed to air after arrival were reported years later as severely myopic in their new homeland. There were only so many layers of the cornea you could reshape with a laser to try to correct it. They also had to retrain to blink, not needing to do so submerged. Most wore thick glasses, which magnified their chronically dry eyes, turning them into wide-eyed gawkers not unlike unblinking fish.
But Gary didn’t care about the eye stuff. Any time he was awake for maintenance, he spent hours watching them in the Tank, effortlessly floating in their enclosed world, cocooned in the protective embrace of the PFC, shielding them from the worst effects of rapid G forces and gamma rays. They could drift in their Tank for decades, preserving muscle tone through constant motion, and maintaining adequate nutrition through liquified meals from feeding nipples. Communicating, learning, and preparing for their new roles on some distant colony all happened via their Linqs; they were nothing if not well-read and having had written at least three bad novels by the time they arrived. This, all while the Air Breather assigned to the ship dealt with the periodic Tank maintenance that NANI couldn’t do, like physically switching hoses. While, of course, being subjected to the potentially lethal radiation, lung-shearing G forces, and other indignities that long-term space travel imposed upon those who weren’t in the Tank.
Which was another reason Gary counted down to his promotion.
“Gary.”
He jumped. Spaced out again. The sound of the PFC recirculating in the hose always cast a spell over him.
“Dr. Andrews is waiting.”
“Sure, thanks, NANI.” Gary cleared his throat reflexively then moved to the console and started to type.
–Hello Dr. Andrews, I hope your Tank travel experience has continued to go well. The crew is scheduled for their third and final refiltration as set per Submersion Schedule Protocol 34.21 which NANI has initiated–
–When was the last Linq upload?
Gary stopped typing and asked NANI.
–One hour ago, per schedule. Anyway, since this is the last time I’ll be out of cryosleep until we begin docking procedures, I wanted to bring up my contract–
–My socials are not in synch with Dr. Grivcek’s. Or Dr. Song’s.
A reverberating hum joined the clack of his typing. Gary turned to adjust a kink in the hose. When he came back to the Tank, Dr. Andrews was gone.
“NANI!”
“Yes, Gary?”
“Please ask Dr. Andrews to come back. I really need to discuss my contract.”
“Please stand by.”
A minute later, two bodies floated past while again, a hum grew behind him. This time, a nudge on the hose to straighten the kink didn’t work. The console continued to light up with Gill chatter about social feeds. Gary’s original headache started to rebloom.
“NANI, we have a kink in the output hose.”
“Noted, Gary. Would you like me to pause the refiltration?”
“Not yet, I think I can—” He grunted with the effort of lifting the heavy rubber tube. “If I can just—”
Gary slipped. The weight of his fall was enough to undo the kink. And unplug the tube from the wall. Dirty PFC spouted as if from a fire hydrant, its viscosity coating everything with a shiny film. An alarm blared. Gary flailed.
“NANI!”
“Noted, Gary. Refiltration paused.”
The leak stopped. The alarm turned off. Gary sat on the floor next to the glowing console, which continued to fill with the inane chatter of the scientists, oblivious that their life-supporting medium was almost rerouted to somewhere decidedly outside their Tank.
Gary struggled to slow his breathing. “NANI?”
“Yes, Gary?”
“How much time do I have to get this fixed?”
“Forty-three minutes, Gary.”
He groaned and tried to stand only to slip, splay-legged back to the ground, this time with an ache in his groin. “I think I need a few minutes. Just for a break, you know?”
“Acknowledged. But Gary.”
“Yes, NANI?”
“What about the bogie?”
He started, having forgotten. “What about it?”
“It’s waiting.”
A funny feeling crept up his chest. He coughed to dislodge it, but failed. “What do you mean, it’s waiting?”
“In the docking antechamber. It’s waiting to enter.”
Now Gary was up, leaning heavily on the console. “What? How did it—”
“You pressed the docking hatch button which allowed it to move from the receiver bay to the docking station.”
“I did WHAT?”
“Might have been when you were flailing.”
“NANI, that was an accident! I didn’t mean to—I was falling and—There’s dirty PFC everywhere and I— We can’t have a bogie in the ship—What if it’s dangerous or infected or—”
“Gary.”
“What, NANI?”
“Your break time is over. We need to restart refiltration to remain on schedule.”
“But the bogie—”
“And Gary?”
“WHAT, NANI?”
“Your heartrate. It’s been over 100 for several minutes. Please try to calm down. You’re still not fully acclimated.”
Gary wanted to cry.
#
–Dr. Andrews?
Gary took a deep breath to steady his shaking hands. It didn’t work. I can do it, he thought. The hose is fixed, the bogie can wait. Now is my chance. I can ask for the promotion I’ve been waiting for my entire life.
While he waited for Dr. Andrews to acknowledge his existence, Gary glanced around the Tank room. It was still gooey. The PFC, being inert and frictionless, was the perfect medium for liquid breathing, but outside the Tank, it was thick and very slick. And now everywhere.
–Have you managed the Linq update?
Gary turned back to the console and Tank. Dr. Andrews floated in front of him, arms crossed.
–Dr. Andrews. This is the third and final refiltration sequence before I go back to cryosleep and we arrive at the outpost. So . . .
Gary hesitated, which was risky if you’re typing and the other person has his thoughts instantly transmitted. The console filled with text.
–Exactly. Unlike ABs, blissfully asleep for the duration of the journey, Gills are working. Constantly. We have reports to write, virtual meetings to attend, scientific decisions to make . . .
Focus. I can do it.
–Right. Which is why I would like to discuss my contract renewal now.
Deep breath.
–I am now eligible to apply for Gillship.
There was a pause in the text. Dr. Andrews remained floating in front of him, the hem of his swimtard fluttering in the slight current that circulated around the Tank.
–You? A Gill? Well, that’s simply not possible. You’ve only been with the company, what? Two voyages?
–Seven. Seven full voyages.
–Seven? No. I thought, er, whatshisname, that other AB was moving on up, not you.
–It’s been me. This whole time. Seven. I’ve wanted to be a Gill my whole life. That is my goal.
–Dr. Grivcek! What was the name of that other AB we had? Carl something?
Dr. Grivcek swam past, doing the doggie paddle.
–Gary, I believe.
–Right. Gary. But he also wasn’t with us for very long, was he? The G forces did something to his brain on take-off, if I recall correctly?
Gary almost ripped the console screen off its hinges.
–I’M GARY!
Both scientists squinted out of the Tank.
–Hm, could be. Could be.
Dr. Grivcek floated away, disinterested. Gary groaned.
“NANI. Please upload my CV to Dr. Andrew’s Linq with my Gill application.”
“With pleasure, Gary.”
“Thank you.”
“And Gary?
“Yes, NANI?”
“Refiltration is fifty percent complete. We are back on schedule.”
“Great, thanks, NANI.”
A sound pulled Gary’s attention from the screen. As he surveyed the various hoses, something beyond the pulse and rush of the PFC running through the lines caught his ear again.
“NANI, did you hear something?”
“I am picking up a reverberation.”
“NANI, please pause refiltration.”
A cloak of silence fell over the Tank room, an odd sensation in a room typically filled with the white noise of pumps.
And then: a knock.
“NANI. Something’s knocking on the antechamber door.”
“Someone, Gary. That’s your bogie.”
“My bogie?” Gary caught himself. “NANI. What do I do?”
“Options include: neutralization, interaction, or further delay. But I wouldn’t recommend the last one.”
Gary gulped. “NANI, please give me visual of the docking antechamber.”
On the console, the screen flipped to video feed. Gary squinted through the static, unsure if he could believe his eyes. Standing at the door was a girl.
#
“What the—? Who is that?”
NANI used the video feed to zoom in on the bogie.
“Appears to be human. Female. Approximately sixteen years of age. 160 centimeters in height, weight estimate—”
“NANI, I don’t need biometrics right now. I need. . .” Gary paused. “Open a comms line. I need audio.”
“Yes, Gary.” The Tank room filled with the sound of static.
“No, wait.” Gary glanced at the Tank, its occupants floating by, oblivious. “Let’s take this to the hall. They, um. I can handle this. On my own. They would just. . .”
“Understood, Gary.”
Taking care on the slick floor, Gary skated to the console in the hall on a private feed, out of sight of the Tank. “Thanks, NANI.”
“You’re welcome, Gary. Audio established.”
Gary cleared his throat, heart fluttering. A bogie. On his ship. And he was about to communicate with it. Her. On his own. What to say? How to make first contact? Should he prepare a brief speech or—
“Yo heya, anyone there?” The voice startled him. He watched as the girl looked up at the video camera. “I saw you point this thing at me. Your AI said someone was here. So. What gives?”
Well, there goes the ceremony. “NANI,” Gary whispered. “You already told her I was here?”
“Her vitals were elevated, indicating fright. Knowing there are others of your own kind in the vicinity helps calm the psychosomatic responses of increased cortisol and—”
“NANI!”
“Yes, Gary?”
“Just. Shhhh. Please. I’m trying to make contact.”
“Then talk to her, Gary.”
Gary rolled his eyes and cleared his throat again. Then he pressed the comms button. “Greetings.” Ug. “I mean, um. Hello.” Deep breath. “Welcome to the Zeitgeist. Please identify yourself.”
He watched as the girl put her hands on her hips. She wore a uniform, but color was lost through the black and white feed. A large emblem decorated her right arm along with a few large rips and dark spots that Gary hoped were not blood.
“I’m Vyolet. From the Pantomime. We—. There was a—” She paused and looked down. After appearing to steel herself, she turned back to the camera. “OK? Good enough? Open this door, guy. I’m starving. Aren’t you company ships required to shelter refugees? Safe space havens, all that?”
Gary considered. “NANI, do you detect any weapons? Is she carrying any biological agents? Will she—”
“Gary. Open the door.”
“But what if—”
“Gary.”
“Right. You’re right. OK. NANI, please open the door.”
“Acknowledged.”
Gary watched the console as Vyolet stepped through and entered the Zeitgeist.
#
Gary still hadn’t fully recovered from his cryosleep-induced nausea, so watching Vyolet from across the galley’s counter wolf down plate after plate of greasy nuked scrambled eggs had him barely holding down his own can of ginger ale. He took another tentative sip and tried not to inhale egg-smell.
It didn’t work and he dry heaved again.
“Yo heya, you . . . ?” Vyolet paused her shoveling and threw a sharp glance across the counter. “You’re not sick or anything, are you?”
Gary wiped his mouth and sat up. “Me? No! I should be asking you that.” He took another sip and coughed. “So. You’re not sick or anything, are you?”
Vyolet smirked. “Hope not.” Then she resumed her bingeing.
Aware that she was efficiently depleting his rations for the rest of the trip, Gary tried to slow her eating down with questions. Interspersed among a few more heaves, he was able to piece together a few loose facts about his bogie.
Vyolet’s vehicle was an escape pod from the Pantomime, which was heading to the same outpost as the Zeitgeist. According to her, a methane leak caused an explosion, and she was the only survivor. The heat signature from the Zeitgeist was enough to pull Vyolet’s escape vehicle, which was still in good shape, toward interception. And here she sat. Inhaling eggs.
Gary wiped a chunk of airborne egg off his cheek and excused himself.
“NANI?” he whispered in the bathroom. “I don’t know about this. Something seems off. Can you verify her story?”
“The news feed mentions an explosion from Sector Alpha Two several weeks ago.”
“The Pantomime isn’t part of our fleet?”
“Correct. An independent contractor. They are not Tank operators.”
“So why were they heading to the outpost?”
“It appears the Pantomime was a waste collection facility.”
“Methane leak. Right.” Gary nodded slowly, putting the pieces together. “So Vyolet’s a trash girl?”
“I wouldn’t recommend calling her that.”
“No. Right.” Gary washed his hands and looked in the mirror. Dried flecks of PFC peeled off under the hot water. So I finally found someone even lower on the ladder than me.
“Don’t mention that, Gary.”
“I won’t. Wait. How did you—?”
“It would be very rude.”
“I know.”
“Plus it makes no difference now that she’s with us.”
“NANI, I won’t bring it up, OK?” He frowned into the mirror. “What do you mean, now that she’s with us?”
“Under Regulation 354.2 of the Interplanetary Travel Aid Agreement, paragraph three of the MOU, all Companies are considered Safe Space Havens. We are obliged to house space accident victims and transport them to our final destination.”
“She needs to lay off my eggs, then.”
“Agreed, Gary.”
Gary stole one more glance at the mirror. He looked tired. No, he looked beat up. Dark circles lounged under his bloodshot eyes and his skin was blotchy and red. His dark hair was matted in some places, sticking straight up in others, and his shirt was on backwards.
“NANI, you let me make contact looking like this?”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Gary.”
Gary grunted and splashed water on his face, finding another gooey chunk of PFC hanging under his chin. He was so done. He just wanted to get his promotion to Gill and float like a fish in the sea. Was that really too much to ask? After fifteen years of service? He shuddered at the thought of one more cryosleep session, then his heart lurched.
“NANI, we still have one more cycle. Where will Vyolet cryosleep? There’s only one pod.”
“Technically, an economy cryosleep pod can accommodate two humans in times of emergencies.”
“What do you mean technically?”
“There are 30520 cubic feet of oxygen left. That is exactly seven-eighths of what is comfortable for two humans. Technically, two can survive on that until arrival.”
“But we’ll be uncomfortable.”
“Slightly cyanotic, yes.”
“You mean blue.”
“Slightly.”
Gary groaned again and took his frustration out on the water, splashing it on his face, neck, and entire sink. Inhaling some, he coughed and thought of the Gills, breathing in their PFC as naturally as air. Of course, the transition back to air breathing was lengthy and not without risk. Pneumonia was a constant threat until all the liquid drained. All Gills had mandatory hang time, where daily they hung by their ankles for an hour to expedite drainage. Gary’s contract ended once the Gills were out of the Tanks. Nurses took over during hang time, in case pneumonia or other medical complications arose.
Because I’m just a grunt. A set of arms to hook and unhook hoses, the only thing NANI can’t do.
“NANI, we need to tell the Gills about Vyolet.”
“Agreed.”
“Just. . . maybe not yet.”
NANI’s silence on that point didn’t bother him as much as the silence that met him when he returned to the galley. No egg smacking. No clanking of plates and utensils.
Vyolet was gone.
“NANI!” Gary tried not to panic, but there he was, still dry-heaving ginger ale, trying not to calculate how many brain cells he was going to lose in the upcoming cryosleep cycle because he had to share his oxygen with a bogie and now, he’d lost said bogie. All while trying figure out how to notify his superiors about said bogie that he accidentally allowed onto the ship in the first place.
“She’s in the Tank room,” replied NANI.
When he entered, he found Vyolet standing in front of the Tank.
“Whoa.” She slowly circled it like someone at an aquarium, watching the scientists spin and float, kick and rest. The blue water reflected off her angular face, giving her sharpness an eerie glow. “I didn’t know you were a Tanker ship. This is fizz, guy. Total fizz. I always wanted to see one.”
Gary caught his breath, and for a moment was proud of this stranger’s awe of his ship. His Tank. Then he frowned. There was something else in her expression. Something that seemed closer to menacing than wonderment. He cleared his throat and tried to shake off his growing unease.
“I guess I’ll tell the Gills now. About the bogie, I mean.” Gary scrolled through the comms chat, bracing for the abuse he would receive. But he kept scrolling. And scrolling.
No mention of the bogie. They hadn’t noticed her. Yet.
Vyolet’s attention was back on Gary. “So, you’re their, like, caretaker? I heard they get sick, like lung disease. All the time. You’re their med unit?”
“Uh, well, not exactly. In the Tank, they’re safe, and I—”
“I heard they’re wired up. Can read each other’s minds.”
“Well, yeah, sort of. It’s called the Linq and—”
Vyolet grinned. “And I heard they have sex all the time and you get to watch.”
Gary blushed. “Uh, I mean, sometimes they do. . . things like that . . . but I don’t . . .”
Vyolet’s eyes wandered the room’s perimeter with its hoses and dials. The main output hose, kink now fixed, hummed as it finished the refiltration. She nodded in sudden understanding. “Wait. No. You’re the hose guy.”
Gary cleared his throat. It was suddenly very hot in the Tank room. “Well, I . . . ensure the Tank adheres to its regular refiltration schedule which is absolutely necessary for the health of the crew.”
Vyolet’s nods became more emphatic. She wagged a finger at him and smirked. “Yep. Hose guy. Heard about you, too.” She snorted. “Man, never thought I’d meet someone lower down the ladder than me.”
“What? Hey—”
“Relax, guy, I’m just messing with you.” She turned back to the Tank, eyes moving restlessly from one Gill to another. “You know, where I’m from. Kepler-2. Tons of water. Crystal clear lakes, wide shallow seas.” She barked a short laugh. “Couldn’t wait to get away. Place was too small for me, you know? Suffocating.” She shrugged, a jerky motion. “Typical kid. So what did I do?” She turned to face him. Her eyes were wild. “Yee haw! Became a space cowboy on a shit ship. So fun venting noxious gases from the trash piles other ships create. And no one tells you every once in a while—” She imitated the sound of an explosion. “That’s why they have no problem taking run-aways. We’re expendable.”
She turned back to watch the Gills in silence.
Gary watched her watch the Tank. Her arms were crossed, jaw clenched, like a coiled spring. She seemed earnest if edgy, but something wasn’t adding up. If there was such an explosion on the ship, how was the escape vehicle in perfect condition? Gary frowned. “Tell me more about Kepler-2. The water.”
“Oh, it really is beautiful, guy. Fishing’s good. Plenty to eat. Water’s clean enough.”
A pang of jealousy struck him. “Must’ve swam a lot.”
“Swim? Why would I—” Vyolet cut herself off, then her eyes went big. “Yeah.” She nodded furiously. “The water’s perfect for that. Swimming, I mean. So much swimming.”
Gary’s eyes drifted back to the Tank and the oblivious Gills, eyesight so poor they couldn’t even tell there were now two Air Breathers standing right in front of them. When he looked back at Vyolet, she was eyeballing the console.
“That’s how you communicate?”
“Yes. But—”
She practically skipped over to it. “What should I type?”
Gary had to restrain himself from yanking her hands away from the keyboard. “No! I mean, no, it’s not that simple. They, uh, they don’t know about you yet and. . .”
Vyolet pouted and her eyes narrowed. “I just want to say hi.”
“We can, uh, introduce you later. Um, NANI?”
“Yes, Gary?”
His mind raced. “How about we give Vyolet here, uh, a quick training session on hose maintenance if she’s part of the crew now?” He gave Vyolet what he hoped was a conspiratorial wink and not a perverted wink. A fine line to walk.
“Acknowledged.”
Tiny text and intricate diagrams filled the screen and immediately, Vyolet’s eyes glazed over.
Perfect. “There’ll be a quiz when I get back!” He winked again, immediately followed by a cringe. Winking could not become a habit. He excused himself to the bathroom.
#
Even with the water running in the sink, Gary whispered. “NANI? Something’s off about Vyolet. What do you think?”
“Agreed, Gary. Although data confirms the Pantomime is no longer functional, the bogie’s narrative is becoming questionable.”
Gary nodded. “You got a retina scan on her when she disembarked, right? Can you run it?
“One moment.”
Gary flushed the toilet while he waited. Then he flushed again. He debated the pros and cons of a third consecutive flush when NANI came back.
“Vyolet Harshla, 16 years old. Citizen of Colony Theta Three on Kepler-2.”
That twinge of jealousy returned. “Her water world.”
“Her name is not on the Pantomime’s manifest.”
Gary considered. “A stow-away.” He shrugged. “I sort of expected that.”
“Gary.”
“Yes, NANI?”
“Colony Theta Three is a penal colony.”
“What do you mean?”
“For violent offenders.”
“Hold on, are you saying—”
“Vyolet Harshla, 16 years old. Citizen of Colony Theta Three on Kepler-2 has been convicted of a multitude of petty theft charges, five aggravated assaults, one count of arson, ten counts of cyber-encryption fraud, two unauthorized genomic alterations, five counts of grand theft of interplanetary transport, and two murders.”
Gary stared at himself in the mirror, mouth slightly agape. “When I was 16, I just played a lot of VR.”
“Gary. This bogie should be considered dangerous for the Company. Please act accordingly.”
“Dangerous for the Company? NANI, what about dangerous for me? There’s a convicted murderer on this ship!” He hesitated, then asked, “I probably don’t want to know who she murdered or how, do I?”
“No, Gary. You probably don’t. But it is of the best interest for the ship and crew for this bogie to be detained.”
“I’m sorry, did you say detained? NANI, there’s a murderer on this ship and I have to somehow capture her?”
“She’s only 16.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“She’s roughly three-fifths of your total mass.”
“NANI.”
“You’re the only one with functioning arms, Gary.”
Said arms began to flail. “Yes, I realize that, NANI. But how—”
The sudden blare of an alarm cut him off.
“Wha—”
“The PFC outlet hose has been disconnected. Gary, the bogie is tampering with the hoses.”
“For ship’s sake—” Gary ran out the bathroom door, only to catch his breath half way down the hall, his heart hammering in his chest. “Damn acclimation,” he wheezed, then dragged himself back to the Tank room.
#
In retrospect, Gary acknowledged it was probably a mistake to give Vyolet access to the hose maintenance manual as a distraction to buy him some time. When he entered the Tank room, he found that she had already unhooked the PFC outlet hose and re-routed the carbon dioxide filtration chamber. When she noticed him trying to sneak up behind her, she met him with a fierce glare, eyes alight. This was not the starving stowaway to whom he gave his eggs in the galley. Gary suddenly wasn’t so sure about NANI’s assessment that he could somehow restrain her. She was wiry but to unhook those hoses, had to be stronger than she first looked.
“Vyolet, step away from the hoses.”
The girl sneered and gave a dial a twist. Gary cringed as a second alarm went off.
“PFC pressure valve.” She tapped the gauge. “Funny. That’s a pretty high reading.”
Gary took a step toward her and she threw up a hand. “Don’t come any closer, guy. This is my ship now.”
Gary almost laughed. “Excuse me?”
“You said it yourself—those things can’t tell the difference.” She nodded at the Gills in the Tank. “They’ll have no clue.”
“No clue about what?”
“That we’re no longer going to Titan 5.”
Gary folded his arms across his chest. “And how exactly are you changing course?”
Her eyes turned to daggers and Gary actually winced.
“You will be telling her.” She looked at the ceiling and Gary assumed she was referring to NANI. “And if you refuse, this dial—” she pointed to the pressure valve—“will be cranked so high, the entire Tank will crack like an egg.”
Gary stood motionless, eyeing the dial. It was at 85 psi, the needle of the dial trembling between yellow and red. Reaching to the far banks of his memory, Gary thought up to 100 psi was sustainable for a while. But how long? He had to think quick.
“OK,” he said. “Just, um, hang on here. Where exactly is it you want to go?” His mind raced as he stalled for time. TURD training had not in any way prepared him for any sort of hostile takeover situation. He was just the hose guy.
Just when he thought Vyolet’s eyes couldn’t get any meaner, they did. He shivered.
“The Crab Nebula. Copernicus 102. An outpost as far away from here as I can get.”
Gary cleared his throat as thoughts coalesced. “And, um, what will you do once we, uh, get there?”
Vyolet glared at him. “What do you care?” She folded her arms. “Oh, and there’s no we.”
“Hm?”
“There’s only one cryo-pod, guy. The two of us will never make it that far.” Her eyes narrowed. “Either you get in here,” she nodded at the Tank, “or you go out there.”
“In your escape pod?”
“Or the exhaust hatch. Your choice.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
The dual sirens continued to shriek. Vyolet’s eyes glazed over, like she suddenly grew bored of the entire conversation. She gave the pressure dial another twist and Gary cringed as the dial shuddered to 95 psi. “Clock’s ticking, guy. What’ll it be?”
Gary’s heart hammered, his mind blank. His ship was being taken over by someone three-fifths his size and he was standing there wondering if NANI could do anything. He scratched his head and then remembered he was the one with the arms. So he tried to use them.
Lunging at Vyolet, he managed to grab her leg as she twisted away. Her ankle slipping from his grip, she reached to give the pressure dial a final twist but, in her haste, stumbled over one of the hoses she had uncoupled from the wall. This afforded Gary the instant he needed to subsequently fall on her as he slipped on a patch of PFC from the previous hose kink fiasco. As his weight fell squarely on her hip, Gray heard a pop, followed by a litany of expletives.
For a moment, Gary was unsure of his next move. Then Vyolet yelled and almost caught him with a flailing left hook. He grabbed her arm and pulled it behind her back.
Seeing spots, barely catching his breath, and ignoring Vyolet’s threats of extreme violence should she be released from his body weight, Gary looked up at where he, too, imagined NANI to be, and smiled. “The bogie has been restrained.”
“Congratulations, Gary. Please also note the pressure gauge needs to be reset immediately.”
“Oh, right.” Noticing Vyolet’s knee twisted at an unnatural angle, he realized she wasn’t going anywhere so he staggered to the pressure dial and turned it back to green. The alarms silenced and he was left with his own heavy breathing and the extremely vehement cursing from his captive.
#
Gary discovered extra hose in a storage room made for decent bondage. With Vyolet’s wrists tied together, he helped her limp from the Tank room down the hall, retracing her original steps into the Zeitgeist from the docking antechamber. With several grunts, he shoved her as politely as he could back into her escape pod and closed its door, dodging a few well-aimed kicks from her one good leg.
After the door sealed, he could no longer make out any of the worst cuss words he’d ever heard this side of the galaxy. His shoulders sagged and he leaned against the wall of the antechamber.
“NANI,” he said, no longer able to hold back the weariness in his voice. “Please set and lock the pod’s auto-course for Kepler-2.”
“Acknowledged.”
After stepping through the antechamber door back to the hall, he watched on a console as the bay doors opened and with a woosh, the pod jettisoned into space.
Gary sighed the biggest sigh of his life and returned to the Tank room where he took up his usual residence in front of the glass. The Gills continued to float past, oblivious to everything outside their six-inch thick barrier between liquid and air.
“NANI. Pull up my resume and add “saved ship from mutinous murderer” to my list of accomplishments for this voyage.”
“Gary?”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps you should consider that this was all your fault to begin with.”
Gary frowned. “What?”
“You let the bogie in—”
“—that was an accident—”
“You left her unsupervised in the galley—”
“—I had to confer with you privately—”
“And you gave her access to proprietary hose maintenance manuals.”
“That was a delay tactic!”
Gary slumped, unwilling to concede, but realizing NANI had a point. The Gills would ask questions he didn’t really feel like answering.
“Well. Still.” He lingered at the Tank, imaging himself in there soon, then turned to head to his cryopod closet. “My fifteen-year tenure really speaks for itself.”
“I will vouch for you,” NANI offered.
This made Gary smile as he undressed and crouched into the tiny pod.
“You’re programmed to support me, NANI. But thanks anyway.”
“Acknowledged, Gary.”
His final glance outside the pod was of a photograph of a coral reef that hung on the door of his locker. The brightly colored fish always lifted his spirits. With the lid sealing around him and the lights dimming, he closed his eyes and sighed, preparing to dream once again of being a fish.
END
