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A strong wave of motion sickness overwhelmed him instantly. He vomited, and the ventilator attached to his face swiftly sucked it up. A beeping sound echoed from inside his pod as a cloud of steam billowed out when the hatch opened.
This is the worst I have ever felt in my entire life...
Disconcerted, he sat up and ran his hand through his hair, eyes shut. "I'm not in the Novus anymore..." He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, barely making out a round silhouette hovering by his side.
A ship's drone, probably.
"Passenger #29317, Alan Warden. Your presence is required in room #13, East Wing, Block C. Priority: Immediate."
Yeah, that's a drone for you.
"Why did you log me out? Protocol states…"
"You will receive new orders once you reach room #13, Area C. I will be your escort along the way. Follow me, please."
"Even though you're asking nicely..." he grunted, "I’ll need a minute to recover from the decompression, you know."
"Permission to apply an adrenaline dose—"
"W-wait, hold on!!"
"—to Passenger #29317, Alan Warden. Granted."
“That won’t be necessary—Argh! And you freaking did it!”
“Please dress up and follow me.”
The slick white hovering ball made its way toward the exit while Alan looked around, fully awake, admiring thousands of capsules arranged in numerical order, each occupied by others like him.
The Tandem... Earth’s last teen generation.
Before entering cryosleep, every passenger had been instructed to get naked and store their clothes inside their chamber. He found his compartment easily as if he had used it yesterday. Even though a week has passed inside my mind.
Fully dressed, he exited his cryopod and stepped onto the automatic track that would lead him out, glancing at his fellow passengers. They were still securely sleeping, logged into The Novus.
Astrid is not here; they sent her to a different chamber with the rest of the women.
“Please enter the elevator.”
“What’s all this about, anyway? Did an engine blow off?” He joked, but the silence from the drone unnerved him.
It took him five minutes to reach his destination. The number 13 ominously adorned the white sliding door.
The room contained only the essentials for living. A collapsible bed, a small bathroom and shower area, a desk, and a monitor embedded in the wall.
“You will receive further instructions in a minute,” the drone stated, and a timer appeared on the screen. “Thank you for your cooperation. Have a nice day.”
“Nice day, my ass,” Alan muttered once the door shut behind him. “I feel like a freaking prisoner.”
He glanced at the timer; 49 seconds remained. He approached a sealed window and tried to activate it, but a red light indicated it was locked.
It’s not like I wanted to see the blackness of space, anyway...
Another glance at the monitor. Thirty-five seconds remaining.
He inspected the bathroom, surveyed the emptiness of his desk, and finally sat on the edge of the bed.
17 seconds.
No, seriously, what did I do?
13 seconds.
The decompression process typically takes about eight hours. Eight freaking hours have passed since I left the Novus…
7 seconds.
And since our consciousness gets directly connected to a collective neural network, where the system can load and process our thoughts faster than humanly possible, time inside the Novus passes much quicker. So for Astrid, it's been like almost two days since I got disconnected…
1 second.
There better be a good explanation for this, or I’ll…
The screen flashed briefly, displaying the Santa María ship’s crest—a mermaid holding a vase pouring water, surrounded by stars, followed by a familiar hexagonal logo.
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“Greetings, Passenger #29317, Alan Warden. How are you feeling today?” A monotonous voice attempting cheerfulness spoke.
Alan's annoyance quickly morphed into fear and anxiety. Why am I being addressed by the ship’s main computer instead of the captain, the head of security, or at least someone human?!
"Um, hi… I-I'm good. I’m good."
"That's nice to hear because we at Alvearium Enterprise care about your safety."
"Sure." He swallowed hard. "Can you tell me what I'm doing here, please?"
"Of course, Alan. But first, we must address something. According to your record, you signed up to be a technician on this ship. Is that correct, Alan?"
"Y-yeah, but I got rejected because I failed the last test."
"That will not be an issue anymore. In the absence of former Captain—"
"A-absence?!"
"—Robert Bosniak, I, the Santa María's main A.I., codenamed Isabella, have been promoted to Captain—"
"H-hold on!"
"—of The Santa María, Chief of Security, and Protector of Humankind… So I, Isabella, promote you to Chief Technician until further notice."
"Could you please tell me what happened to Captain Bosniak? Did he fall ill?"
"I’m sorry. But that info is classified."
"What about the rest of the ship's staff?! Anybody could fill the position better than me!"
“Do not worry! I can provide you with video tutorials and technical documentation so you can be up to the task. So, what do you say?”
“Did something bad happen, Isabella?”
"I’m sorry. But that info is classified."
He clenched his fists and raised his voice. "If I'm the new Chief whatever, I request permission to know what happened."
"Chief Technician, Alan Warden, are you implying that not knowing the requested information may affect your work performance, by causing you mental stress?"
"Yes! That's what's happening right now!"
"Understood. In that case, Passenger #29317, Alan Warden, I will demote you to Maintenance Assistant—"
"Oh, come on!"
"—Until further notice. Please understand that you are not currently in the best mental and physical condition to receive the requested information. We can discuss the details later when you have completed your training."
All the bickering made Alan forget why he had been summoned there. His eyes widened, and his voice cracked. “W-wait, come again? What training?”
“The Santa María ship needs some repairs that regular drones cannot handle. Until the ship returns to a self-sufficient status, you will be in charge of doing the necessary—”
“How long will that take me?!” he cried, placing both palms against the monitor. “Because I need to go back to the Novus. Someone is waiting for me!”
“Maintenance Assistant, Alan Warden, Protocol might dictate that all non-staff passengers of the Santa María must remain logged into the Novus at all times. But please, believe me, this situation is extraordinary. So for the time being, the ship requires your services.”
“I-I’m not refusing to do the work, I signed up for it from the beginning…” He said in a quiet voice, looking away and taking a step back. “That I was even logged into The Novus was like a miracle to me. I just want to know how long I’ll be away from the system.”
His mind filled with the memory of the one he left behind. Her melodic voice, her shiny blonde hair, her deep blue eyes.
The monitor remained silent for a couple of seconds.
“I can make an estimate, but it will take some time. That would also depend on how well you adapt to the work. For the time being, rest here until your body recovers from the decompression process. Entertainment will be provided to you through this monitor, and dinner will be served in… 120 minutes. Sleep well, and my apologies for any inconvenience this situation may cause you."
The monitor turned off automatically, leaving only a distorted dark reflection of him.
“Yeah, glad to help! Glad to… Oh, god...”
He threw himself onto the bed, watching the immaculate blankness of his temporary rooftop.
No matter how much time passes, it will be multiplied by five inside the Novus, anyway.
“So I’m screwed.”
And most importantly, what happened to the staff of The Santa María? At least 50 adults, men, and women, volunteered to work outside the Novus for the safety of the ship and its passengers.
The only thought that kept him fully awake until dinner time was whether the entire crew had perished in an accident.
A very nightmarish idea…
****
**
*
“Good morning, Maintenance Assistant, Alan Warden. How are you feeling today?”
“I’m feeling pretty well,” Alan replied while standing in the center of the room, wearing the yellow working clothes that had been provided to him through a delivery tube.
“Was the shower temperature to your liking, Alan?”
“Good enough, thanks. I just have a brief question, Captain Isabella.”
“You do not have to call me by that title. Just call me Isabella. And I would love to answer your questions. As long as—”
“I won’t ask anything classified, I promise. I was just wondering, who’s cooking?”
“Was dinner and your breakfast not to your liking?”
“I mean, don’t take it personally, it was edible. But was tomato and corn soup the only thing you had?”
“I’m detecting a tone of discomfort in your voice. I will try to provide a wider range of flavors in your next meals.”
“Can I be the one cooking?”
“I’m sorry, but The Santa María has no kitchens. The food that you have ingested is a series of nutrients that—”
“Wait, never mind. You don’t need to explain it…”
“If it makes you feel better, the food you will be enjoying for the next year…”
“Did you say year?!”
“...Has a more diverse taste than the paste we provide to the other passengers. Isn't that great?”
“You said a year… Will I spend that much time outside the Novus?”
“One year and 4 months. I have run a simulation, and that is the estimated time for you to finish the work.”
“Do you have a schedule?”
“I will display it on your monitor.”
The screen showed a calendar, which Alan studied for a minute, using the touch screen to advance through it. “So I’ll be working 10 hours a day?”
“Affirmative. According to the Department of Working Ethics…”
“Change it to 18 hours.”
“May I advise against it? Such a workload could cause mental and physical—”
“I can handle it,” Alan said firmly, staring at the camera above the monitor. “If you ever detect that my performance is plummeting, you can readjust the schedule. Got it?”
“Understood. Working Calendar updated.”
“1 year and 4 months,” he muttered, glancing at the monitor. That would turn into 6 years and 8 months inside the Novus.
I’ll do my best to take less time than that...