Ship’s Log:
Commercial Interstellar Rescue and Salvage Vessel FCSS Nineveh
Registration Number: 118096312273
Greenwich Sol Date: May 20, 2336, 0800
Assignment: Undisclosed
Destination: Undisclosed
Systems Status: All systems within normal parameters
Crew Registry: 8 males, 5 females, 1 bioengineered hominid (male)
Miguel De Silva – Commanding Officer (4th gen GMH)
Zhu Honghui – Engineering Officer (1st gen GMH)
Keisha Holly – Navigation Officer
Amanda Patterson – Senior Sci-Med Officer (4th gen GMH)
Jai Chandna – Sci-Med Officer (2nd gen GMH)
Akins Moussa – Chief Engineering Technician
Claudia Nieves – Computer Systems Technician
Ekaterina Samoylova – Computer Systems Technician
Farouk Soliman – Electrical Systems Technician
Aalia Qureshi – Electrical Systems Technician
Jonathan Ginting – Mechanical Systems Technician
Jason Garvey – Hull and Rigging Technician (1 parent GMH)
Matthew Fuller – Laboratory Technician (3rd gen GMH)
K134863R – Senior Heavy Machinist (BEH)
Crew Status: In cryosleep
The conditions were right for the next cycle of birth and death. A sleepless pilot, named TURING, worked within the cold, dark confines of the commercial starship Nineveh. It had kept fourteen souls in a no-dream sleep for months while sojourning through the stars. Now it had to wake them. It did not do so out of loneliness (for it knew no such condition) but out of necessity. A plan made long ago was in jeopardy. And there was no one to assist them.
TURING sent directives to the local control units in Cryobay to wake the crew, and they answered their call. Simultaneously, it ordered other controllers to energize heating and ventilation, activate lighting, and make the ship ready for habitation. Its many slave computers obediently worked to prepare the ship for their secret task. Doors unlocked. The plumbing systems was primed. Stagnant air circulated again. Light drove away the darkness throughout the Nineveh’s tight spaces.
TURING’s authority was absolute. And the ship came alive at its word. Robbie, the ship’s caretaker robot reported that it was heading to Cryobay as ordered. TURING guessed that K134863R would wake before it got there. Doctor Patterson would too. TURING knew that they would need no assistance and so this did not trouble it.
Cryobay was dark and cold. The display consoles for each of its cryopods energized with the waking sequence, casting soft shadows throughout the circular room. Barely perceptible vital signs began to become more pronounced. And TURING watched through its many cameras and called it good. Controlled death had died once more.
TURING finalized the wakeup protocol. The main lights in the room switched on to a soft setting and the cryogenic fluid within the cryopods soon drained. The temperature readjusted to a cool 22 degrees C. Then the lids opened, revealing the sterile bioengineered cocoons containing the ship’s crew, dressed only in their undergarments. A casual observer might first mistake them for dead, but their breathing became more apparent as they approached waking.
Soon it would no longer be alone. And together they would complete an odd job. Odd for reasons not fully known. For they did not know what it was they were to retrieve in this remote system, they did not know where it came from, and they could never tell anyone about it.
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The first of the crew tore his membrane encasement and slowly sat up with his eyes closed. He was a huge man with harsh features and unusual proportions. His muscular build appeared beyond what was possible for a human and proved that he was a product of extensive bioengineering. The crew called him Stocky.
He listened for sirens or klaxons, but the room was silent. It was the normal wakeup scheduled months ago. He soon heard the faint sounds of the others beginning to move within their cocoons. They were struggling to wake, but then humans always did. He blindly patted his right arm, feeling where the intravenous system had been providing nutrients. He felt nothing as he pulled out the needles.
He heard another membrane tear while began to remove the electrodes that had been monitoring his vitals. Then there was a groan. He listened to the source of the noise and smelled the air. Normally, he could tell the person’s scent, but his senses were too diminished. Still, he thought he recognized him and asked, “Is that you, ENG?”
There was no immediate answer, and he resumed removing the electrodes on his body. He had nearly finished when he heard the other man weakly answer, “Yeah.” The ENG’s voice sounded like death. Elsewhere, he heard another crewman tear open her pod membrane and sit up. He believed that was Patterson, the ship’s senior Sci-Med Officer, and he opened his eyes.
The light immediately forced him to tightly squint. But he had a trick. He opened his eyes again and kept his inner eyelids – translucent nictitating membranes – shut. He saw a tall young woman with lustrous auburn hair stretching to the small of her back and silk smooth skin. And she had body proportions which proved that she was a product of considerable genetic tailoring too.
She wasn’t like him. She was human – at least on paper. She was a GMH, or Genetically Modified Human, but people like her were often called splicers. Splicers tended to be slightly more competent than your run of the mill humans. But she was exceptional, and it fascinated him. Certainly, the fact she was the product of several generations of GMHs had a lot to do with it. But there was something more.
He was unique too. He was a BEH, or Bioengineered Hominid, but his kind were typically called replicants. He was augmented with engineered features which made him a true superman, and his purpose was to enable humanity to conquer the stars. All he had ever known – or would ever know – was the endless struggle to transform the dark and dangerous expanse of space into something humanity could comfortably inhabit.
He looked over Patterson’s almost nude body. Her hands glided over the skin of her toned legs, attempting to warm them. He imagined having his own hands on her. And then she began to feel over her chest, removing the monitoring electrodes. Her large nipples protruded through her thin shirt in alluring fashion, and filled him with nervous tension. It was fortunate that he had removed the electrodes monitoring his vitals. He didn’t want his feelings on record.
“Good morning, Patterson.”
She took a deep breath, heaving her chest. “Good morning. Is it just us?”
“Zhu is trying to wake.”
“I’m…up,” Zhu said.
Nowhere close.
“Take your time,” Patterson said.
Stocky thought it was good that they both seemed relaxed – they knew what their special assignment was. He carefully pulled himself up out of the cryopod and sat down on the bench beside it, feeling proud of not needing help. The cold bench and floor chilled his skin and helped to wake his mind. He would soon learn why he was sent.
He had disembarked the Abydos a few days before they left Ming Station for their next assignment under the direction of VP Ops. He was put on a short-range transport and flown to the edges of Zeta Reticuli to board the Nineveh and assist her on a “Rescue and Relief” assignment. It was unusual for the company to go through the expense of a chartered flight to meet the new ship and crew while it was on assignment. Usually, one would head to its next port of call before its arrival. But it was also very unusual to get special assignment orders. He quickly surmised that he was being stationed on the Nineveh for something big.
Once he arrived and was briefed, he felt certain that the Marco Polo haul must have been the special assignment. The ship was an enormous refined ore carrier holding valuable cargo which would fetch the company a tidy sum for just a short voyage. But it also took an incredible amount of physical work to safely latch the crippled ship for tow. A replicant like him was an invaluable asset. He had proved that by performing the largest share of work.
However, he also suspected that he had been sent to the Nineveh so that he could provide ‘insurance’. The crew on a ship in severe distress usually were initially grateful for the salvation provided by them. But after the immediate fear of dying a grim death in the lonely, frozen dark of space was replaced with thoughts about the cost of repair yard work, the loss of freight contracts, and time away from loved ones then people on rescued vessels could start to have criminal thoughts. De Silva seemed to harbor similar suspicions, judging from his preparations. Fortunately, most of the Polo’s crew had remained peaceful.
He expected to be quickly reassigned to the Abydos once they got the Marco Polo into the repair yard. He had good (They should have been exceptional, but the Captain didn’t want him affecting the reviews of the humans) performance reviews aboard her. It made sense to return him to that posting. But De Silva told him that his special orders were still in effect and that they would soon be headed out for a deep space assignment. He then knew that this was the real assignment and the Marco Polo had merely been a test.
The door opened and a somewhat humanoid robot came in pushing a small cart loaded with warm towels and beverages. It was a cumbersome looking construct, a rather cylindrical torso and with a transparent dome-like head which revealed (strictly ornamental) relay circuitry underneath. Because of its design, the crew had named it “Robbie” after a robot in a film from the earliest years of mankind’s space age. Robbie possessed a lot more dexterity than that design, however, and quickly walked toward them.
“Good morning,” it said in its electronic voice, “TURING reports that we have reached our destination on scheduled time. The ship is in good working order. I’ve brought items of comfort for you. Would any of you desire a warm drink or towel?” The robot made its way over to Zhu as it spoke and carefully cut through the rest of his cryo cocoon to free him. Robbie had enough intelligence programmed into itself to offer unrequested assistance when needed. It draped a warm towel over the ENG.
Zhu weakly pulled the towel against his body and slowly breathed out, “Ooh! Thanks”
“My pleasure, sir,” Robbie said. It then went over to both Stocky and Patterson to give them a warm beverage. But it only gave them what they explicitly requested. It was programmed to generally respect the freedom of humans.
Patterson opened her eyes and looked at him. He looked away, but not immediately because he didn’t want to appear suspicious. He opened his inner eyelids (he didn’t want to appear like a monster) and saw that the lighting didn’t bother him anymore. The ship’s Captain, De Silva, sat up in his cryopod and stretched, showing his Michelangelesque physique.
He might as well get busy. He stood up on his feet and carefully walked over to the Ship’s Status Display, taking small sips from his drink (which was a mineralized water kefir) to reawaken his GI tract. TURING was showing everything to be fine. He turned to Zhu. “The ship seems in good condition. No alarms or warnings. I’m going to assume duties.”
He turned and walked towards the exit, hearing Zhu ask in confusion, “What alarms?” He turned to take one last look at Patterson while he waited for the door to open. She turned toward him, squinting her eyes. Her awareness startled him, and he could only think to pass a smile and then he stepped out the door and into the dressing room directly across the hall.
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Patterson turned toward Zhu after seeing Stocky leave. “He said there aren’t any.”
“That’s good,” Zhu said after some thought.
Patterson now felt warm enough and curled her fingers and toes to gain motor control and wake up her body. Normally, she could do anything she put her mind to. She didn’t like this feeble condition. (It was beneath her.) She hated cryosleep even though she easily recovered.
She set her cup out of the way and focused. Straining her lethargic muscles, she climbed out of her pod and rested on the bench beside it like how Stocky had done. He had made it look easy. But then again, he wasn’t human.
“Feel awful,” Zhu mumbled.
“That’s why they pay us well. This work is often miserable.”
Zhu chortled and then she did too. It was funny because it was true. Cryostasis was not rest but rather a severe stress placed on the body. The aftereffects, though usually minor, were always uncomfortable. And it could even be fatal if one wasn’t in good health to begin with.
“It’s not all bad,” Robbie said. “You do good work providing essential services to those in need. The payout from this task should be particularly rewarding. Besides, your present discomfort will be brief. TURING is showing normal to exceptional progression for everyone.”
“Thanks, Robbie.” Robbie was well intentioned but didn’t have the programmed intelligence to be consistently good at uplifting spirits. She grabbed her cup and took another small sip while looking around at the crew with squinted eyes.
De Silva was pulling the last of the monitoring electrodes off his back. He finished and sluggishly sipped his drink. Chandna and Moussa had also torn their cocoon open and were struggling to sit up.
“Good morning, Captain.”
He mumbled a greeting to both her and Zhu and asked if he'd missed anything.
She didn’t immediately answer and neither did Zhu. She strained to review the Ship’s Status Displays, her eyes resisting cooperation. “Everything’s fine,” she finally said. “Stocky is already up. I’ll be nearby if needed.”
She braced herself on her pod and carefully stood. Her strength was returning, and the cold touch of the floor increased her alertness. She cautiously took one step, steadied herself, and then took another. She could make it to the nearby dressing room.
“Stay in contact…” DeSilva said. “For…” He seemed to then lose his thought.
She gave him an affirmative nod. She glanced around the room and saw Garvey and Samoylova starting to get up, and she was glad to leave. She knew the men found her desirable and she wanted to be fully dressed.
She turned towards the exit and caught De Silva’s gaze following her as she passed by. Maybe he was still mostly asleep and just facing her direction. Maybe he was catching a peek. She hoped it was the former. She regretted provoking any thoughts in a married man. She continued on, not assuming anything.
“TURING, report any contacts in this system,” De Silva said while she waited at the door.
The friendly masculine voice of the ship’s computer system promptly answered, “There are no contacts currently held in this system, Captain. The Nineveh is operating in low thermal mode. We are on scheduled course and making good time, but I have not been able to obtain a recent fix on our assignment. Our current trajectory may no longer be valid. I recommend extending the ship’s reconnaissance capabilities.”
They will have to do a search. De Silva could manage that after he spent some time remembering what it’s like to be awake again. She would focus on other duties.
She stepped through the door and then across the hall to the dressing room. Stocky was inside, almost dressed, and she covered her poking nipples. She opened her locker and was met with the faces in her family photographs. She spent a couple seconds reflecting on those times she had with them. Her memory was sharp; she was waking fine.
Over a year had passed since they left Zeta Reticuli. Where would they be when she returned? Her older sister would likely have a family of her own. And her younger brother would have finished school. She had signed up to miss so much. She reminded herself that all of life is a gamble, and hoped this would be a good one.
She retrieved fresh clothes and sat down on the bench. She set most of her clothing down and then looked at him and dangled her bra. She could go behind the privacy curtain at the back of the room to dress, but it was just them.
He nodded and turned around. She watched him while she pulled off her shirt and panties and then put on fresh undergarments. She let her eyes focus on the lines of his strong back and shoulders coming through his tucked in shirt. “You can look now,” she said as she hooked her bra.
He turned and watched her continue to dress. “You got up fast for a human.” He began to slip on his boots.
“I can manage it.” She pulled into her green Sci-Med shirt. “I’ve done it a couple times before now.” She noticed him watching her legs while she put on her socks.
“The Captain and Chief should be better adjusted,” he said.
He was trying to figure her out. She passed him a wink. “We have some advantages they don’t.”
He silently nodded. “What do you want to do?”
“I must stay in Command Gate in case someone has difficulties waking. I was going to the lounge to hydrate and wait.”
“Are you cold?” He looked straight in her eyes.
“No.” She quickly rethought her answer and glanced down at her breasts. Her nipples still poked through the fabric of her clothes. She looked into his eyes. “Maybe.”
He pulled a large towel out of his locker and then shut it. He draped it across her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“Thanks.” She tossed her worn clothes in the laundry bin, shut her locker, and followed him out.
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De Silva silently thought a moment after learning they had lost contact.
“What do we do?” Zhu tiredly asked.
He tried to speed up his still tired brain. He needed to send probes out ahead of them and centered around their track for scouting a larger volume of space. And they had small autonomous craft, called Rangers, docked on the Piloting Module.
He spoke slowly to get every word out. “TURING, launch the Rangers. Have them fan out ahead so that we can cover a larger region. Continue to run quiet; no unnecessary transmissions.”
“We do our usual?” Zhu asked in exhaustion. TURING’s voice spoke over him giving a countdown for launch and then it reported a successful launch.
He listened to the report before answering. “Yeah. As far as we know this is just a survey and salvage job. Just the location is different.” He rubbed his chest for warmth, and he removed the few remaining monitoring electrodes.
Of course, he knew that it might not be an ordinary salvage job. They had very limited information when they left Zeta Reticuli. Just a track for the object showing it came from deep space and some pixelated images which lacked enough detail to make an identification, nor did it reveal the structural condition of the object. He didn’t want to conduct a hull patch this far from their home port. He hoped the Arrival Report gave new information.
Chandna slowly looked over towards them while shivering uncontrollably and asked with his eyes closed, “We arrived?” His words were badly slurred. He looked disoriented, almost drunk.
“We’re here. How do you feel?” Chandna worked at the corporate office and didn’t go underway very often. And he had probably never been in cryo for thirteen months.
Chandna answered again in slurred speech. “Terrific. Invigorated.”
The others chuckled at his response. De Silva though was surprised he seemed to be recovering this quickly. He had guessed that Chandna would be one of the last to get up given his physiological age and being unacclimatized to cryo.
“We…will…need time,” Chandna said. “How long?”
“We’re going to have time, doctor. We lost contact and so we’re beginning a search. Searches can take days, weeks. We’ll see.”
Chandna looked confused. Moussa injected into the conversation, speaking with pauses. “Now we’re here…mind telling me everything?” He glanced at both of them with his eyes squinted. He rubbed his chest to warm up.
Soon.
He couldn’t run the ship without Moussa. And so he normally informed Moussa about the nature of their business at the start of an operation. He knew he had been kept in the dark this time because their customer requested it, and that it probably didn’t matter anymore. But he might as well tell everyone the full nature (what they knew anyways) of their business at the same time. “We’ll discuss that soon. Engineering has a lot of work to do to get ready.”
The ENG smiled at seeing Moussa’s rejection.
“And Sci-Med is going to have a whole list of requirements too,” he added.
Moussa silently shook his head.
“I’ll leave running the ship to you,” Chandna said. “We will have us compliant with the Paramount...once we’re well.” He strained to force his eyes open as he looked around. “Where’s she?”
Robbie told him that Patterson and “K134863R” were both up, and that it was advantageous to have personnel who could recover quickly.
His name is Stocky – for now.
“She can’t be human,” Moussa tiredly said.
Moussa clearly spoke in jest about Patterson, but it was tempting to think that. Patterson had an unnatural quality to her. She never appeared tired or sick, or fraught with nervousness. It was even more strange now that Stocky was aboard because they got the opportunity to compare the two of them. And this was one of the attributes where she seemed more like a replicant.
Many of those who ventured out for deep space work were genetically modified. But the differences in capability between a GMH and a naturally procreated human were minimal. Even when you considered multigenerational ones such as with himself. The world imagined in Gattaca had been proven false. You didn’t become a superman just from splicing in better genes. Yet, somehow, she did.
“She is human.” Robbie affirmed. “She’s passed all physiological tests while aboard the Nineveh.”
“She administers those tests herself,” Zhu said.
Robbie remained silent. So did the others. It was amusing to see the robot stumped from the implications of the remark. Patterson was human, but she had secrets from her past working at LookingGlass. The most obvious ones being how she got admittance to the secretive institution and why she left it.
Zhu slid out of his pod onto the bench beside it. “The floor’s nice now,” the ENG said.
De Silva squinted his eyes and pushed himself out of his pod. He slid over the edge and sighed as his feet touched the cool deck. He looked at his team and asked, “How’s everyone doing?” He slowly sat down.
Chandna and Moussa both told him not to wait on them. It certainly looked like they would be a while.
Chandna was certainly knowledgeable on how cryosleep worked – it drastically slowed the metabolism by putting the body in a stable condition just a few tenths of a degree above freezing. But De Silva also knew it would likely be hours before Chanda’s mind was back in top shape. “The system feeds you nutrients, keeps you hydrated, and supplies your blood with oxygen all intravenously,” De Silva reminded him. “But your stomach and throat hasn’t had any food or water in months.”
“Don’t eat much for breakfast,” ENG warned.
“I know,” Chandna affirmed. “The gut microbiota has atrophied.”
“And don’t do anything strenuous for several hours. Give your body time to adjust to what it’s supposed to do.”
“I know,” he said again while looking at the I.V. attached to his arm.
Fuller, Garvey, Samoylova, and Nieves were now sitting up in their pods. The monitoring displays showed that they were all well into the waking process and all bio-signs were normal for the occasion. They shivered and looked ill, but it was normal. He guessed everyone would be dressed within a half hour.
The worst part is over, guys.
He glanced silently at Zhu. Let’s get to work. They both strained the muscles in their legs to stand. De Silva looked over at his Navigator’s pod. She was still laying on her back, with one arm reaching up on the rim of the pod. She always struggled to wake.
“Remember, you’ll get details in a few hours,” he said to his crew.
Moussa merely nodded. Garvey and Fuller looked at him with blank stares.
They both walked to the exit, and then to the nearby vacant dressing room.
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Holly opened her eyes to a squint. Someone had already cut through her pod membrane. The bright light forced her to shut her eyes again. The brightness meant most everyone was already awake. She pushed herself to sit up while wrapping her arms around her chest for warmth. She couldn’t hear any alarms, and the conversation seemed casual – with a whole lot of complaining.
Her throat was sore, stomach ached, and she was impossibly tired. She had never felt this bad from cryo. Although this had been a much longer stint that what was typical.
The Captain was certainly up, and he would expect her to review the arrival report before the mission briefing. She didn’t have much time to go through the navigational log and didn’t much care. The Nineveh probably ran the navigational plan that she had charted without deviation, and so there would be no updates to make. And, if that wasn’t the case then she would think of something to stall the discussion until after her head cleared. She hated cryosleep.
She heard a soft clunking coming near and knew that Robbie was approaching to offer her support. “Good morning, Navigator Holly,” she heard it say.
She held out her hand for a cup. He gave one to her and she brought it up to her mouth. “Thanks.” She immediately took one sip and then held it for its warmth. It was so good just to hold it in her hands. And she felt even better when Robbie wrapped a warm towel around her.
She opened her eyes to a squint and saw four blurry crewmen moving about. Others were sitting in their pods. She guessed that nobody was still asleep. She began to pick off the electrodes on her chest.
“TURING,” she called out, “any…change to plan?”
“The navigation plan was executed with the sole deviancy that I delayed wakeup by three weeks,” it answered. “The lack of stellar bodies permitted solar system entry. No foreign contacts are held on sensors and I have not been able to acquire a fix on our target. The arrival report and navigation logs are available for your review.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t follow everything that TURING had said, but she surmised that conditions were good. Very good – considering they had travelled over a hundred lightyears. And no Elios. She had known from the start that it was unlikely that they would both investigate this system at the same time. But a definite “No” was better than unlikely.
She had agreed to the other officers’ plan for taking this assignment. Mostly out of pressure, although she knew it would be good for a few of them. But others would be angry once they learned how long it will be before they see family again. She worried the most about Moussa, who had a spouse and kids
There was no risk for a mutiny – they were a family and they loved and respected each other. But families could drift apart once trust is breached. She hoped they weren’t stretching that trust too thin. Although the crew had given their support to the possibility of lengthy assignments, it was possible some might change their mind now that they were on one. She needed to chart an intercept quick after the briefing and press the crew to complete the survey and boarding fast so that they could get back outbound.
She would keep the trust. She sat still for a few moments simply adjusting to being awake again. Then she began to pluck the electrodes off and look around. Nieves, Soliman, Ginting, and Qureshi were sitting in their pods. Fuller, Garvey, and Samoylova were hydrating by Robbie’s cart.
Chandna was sloppily dressed. He had obviously been up for a while and walked through the room, talking to people to make certain they were recovering properly. Garvey now set his cup down and carefully made his way to the door, walking like a drunk, to get dressed across the hall. The rest of them present wouldn’t do any better at getting to the dressing room.
Chandna came to her. She glanced toward him with a smile and then resumed pulling off electrodes. “I’m good.”
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said. “I’m just being thorough.”
“I’m surprised that…you aren’t with Patterson.”
“She was up and gone before I woke.”
I’m far behind the others.
“TURING reports that everyone woke in good health though,” he continued. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
She nodded. “Probably is.”
She was always one of the last to leave the pod bay. It took longer than most for her body to adjust. Perhaps this was like those other times. Or perhaps she knew something deep inside. Perhaps her unconscious mind foreknew that they were waking from their no-dream sleep to a nightmare consciousness, and her mind desperately sought to turn back.
It wouldn’t have seemed so bad if she wasn’t last among the officers.