Year 193AC (After Cataclysm) Day 102
Deck 53. Mid Section G. Approaching engineering storage.
Thief crawled through the hot ventilation shaft. In the dark, she wriggled out of her jumpsuit, making the heat more bearable. But one discomfort replaced another, as scrawny knees and elbows rubbed against aluminium pipework. Her skin, slick with sweat, squeaked against the metal with each wriggle forward. She feared one of “them” might hear her laboured breathing and squeaking skin. But perhaps they’d put the noise down to rats, or the ship’s machinery, she told herself for the hundredth time. Would they be able to smell her though? The cloying odour of her physical labour filled the shaft. Would it seep out and waft into their nostrils? She imagined them sniffing her scent in the air. Their lips curling back over white fangs as they arched their heads towards the vents, grinning with delight at the promise of fresh blood.
The pipe split in two, a fact Thief discovered by banging her bald head into the junction. Not for the first time. It knocked another ounce of courage from the brave teenager, and she decided it was time to rest and get her bearings. She twisted over in the tight space to lie on her back, giving both knees blessed rest. Retrieving the map and homemade matches from the plastic bag knotted around her ankle, she waited and listened. The only detectable sound - the constant background hum that pervaded all life on board. Content nobody was nearby, she struck a match against the metal wall. It sputtered to life, casting a weak glow over the map. A second later the flame died, but that brief illumination was enough. She identified the junction and sighed with relief. Another hundred feet and she’d be above the engineering section.
A while later she prised open a mesh grill and lowered herself into the void below.
“Steal me anything that looks electronic.” Johan had requested before she left, “but only if it’s easy to grab. Don’t take things apart, you’ll make too much noise.”
Landing on the balls of her feet, Thief remained in a tight crouch for a good minute, holding her breath, again waiting to see if they had heard her. Waiting for one of them to pounce from a dark corner. No attack came, and she breathed a little easier. Another match flare showed the walls lined with storage capsules, much like those in Johan’s workshop. She checked the rad counter on her skinny wrist. The digits kept changing, it couldn’t make its mind up between 38 and 39 rads. Either way, she wasn’t receiving a harmful dose of gamma rays. Yet.
The capsules opened with a soft hiss of escaping air; their contents preserved for centuries in vacuum. She filled her bag with a mixture of components, ignoring those that she thought Johan already had. Cables, motherboards, processors and memory chips all went in the bag. Along with something that resembled a handheld scanner. When it’s sides threated to split under the weight, she closed the capsules and clambered back up through the open grill.
The return trip was more awkward. Sometimes dragging her haul, other times shoving it on ahead. The narrow metal tubes seemed to squeeze tighter and tighter. The bag’s rustling and her heavy breathing echoed through the network of ventilation shafts. She expected claws to grab her ankle at any moment and drag her backwards, screaming.
***
Deck 53. Rear Section L. Johan’s workshop.
Three hours later, with no matches left to check the map, and panic setting in, Thief scratched her arm on rough edges in the pipe’s surface. The stinging pain felt glorious. It signalled home territory! She backed up and ran her fingertips over the markings. Triangles and numbers etched into the metal showed which turns to take up ahead. Reassurance washed away the panic and soon she was lowering the bag to an anxious Johan. He too was covered in sweat. It glistened on his bald head and face. His round glasses threatening to slide off his nose. Sweat darkened the armpits of his faded blue jumpsuit. She figured he’d been doing his pacing again.
“I thought they got you!” he exclaimed, helping her down.
“Nah, not a chance.” Thief said in the most confident voice she could muster. “It’s getting hotter in there though, as you get close to Engineering. Any idea why?”
Johan grabbed her wrist and checked the accumulated gamma exposure. He winced.
“We think they’re shutting down more of the temp regulators up their way. Could be they don’t expect to go near that section. That would be wonderful news for us. Or could be they’re trying to conserve power, which is likely bad news for everyone. We all need power. Them, us, even your fellow rats.”
“Hey, you calling me a rat?” Thief pouted. “You be careful, or I might not steal any more treasure for you!”
But she knew that wasn’t true. Proud of her abilities and status, she’d go on as many thieving missions as he wanted. Few people had a nickname as well deserved as hers. She intended to live up to it.
Johan pushed his glasses up his nose and rummaged through the haul, sorting the stolen pieces into different piles. Tucked away here in his workshop, the techie did not entertain visitors. Except for Thief. He tutored her on electronics, computers, and how things worked. Not to mention the ship’s history.
“So tell me, young Thief, how is the ship powered?” He examined the handheld scanner she’d stolen.
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Thief smiled. She loved his little quizzes.
“Several nuclear reactors,” she squinted in thought, “they heat a special fuel mixture, mostly hydrogen, that drives propulsion engines.”
“And?”
“Oh, and they also generate electricity that powers the life support systems and such. Although a lot of that isn’t working since the cataclysm.”
“Which was when?”
Thief glanced around the workshop for a calendar. Dates, and even time, was not something she worried about. She took a guess.
“Two hundred years ago. It killed my great, great, great, great grandparents…. no wait, there might be another ‘great’. I’m not sure. Hmm…”
Johan smiled. “It’s okay. Most people have forgotten details like that. The cataclysm killed many people, close to half of us. Anyway, your answer was near enough. At least one of those reactors had a meltdown. We’re pretty sure the engines are still running. But yes, a lot of systems crashed. And with the reactors located in the centre, the rear of the ship is now cut off from the front.”
“Not for me, it isn’t!” Thief puffed her chest out. “Only for fatties like you that can’t fit through the pipes. Ha!”
“Hey, I’m not fat!” Johan looked at his stomach. Far from obese, like most of the colonists, he was borderline malnourished.
“I’m kidding ya’.”
“Okay, last question for now. How far are we from Proxima Centauri?”
Thief’s shoulders slumped. While she loved his quizzes, she hated questions like that one. It depressed her, knowing that she’d never get to see their ultimate destination. The far off, almost mythical star system, that her ancestors had built this ship to colonise. She sighed.
“Still over four hundred years?”
“Yep. Four hundred and three years, according to our latest calculations.” Johan didn’t seem at all perturbed by this.
His world centered on the overflowing workshop he lived and worked in. A hermit, that’s what they called him. Apart from Thief, he preferred the company of his gadgets. Even if it was his generation that reached the star system, he’d likely still live in a workshop.
He devoted every spare moment to locating the “AI”. If there was a such a thing. Most doubted the idea, but not Johan. There must be an AI. Perhaps damaged in the cataclysm, all those years ago. But not beyond repair. Or not damaged at all. Maybe alive and functioning, but it had sided with those up front.
Johan had explained to Thief that he and his predecessors had traced most of the cables and wired networks back to various air conditioning, temperature control, oxygen supply systems. Miles and miles of other cables led to the panels that controlled the bulkhead doors, lighting and the electricity supply. Still more operated the outer airlock doors. Someone long ago had lost their life discovering those connections.
One particular, innocuous, cable wound its way through every junction, splitting to connect at every node before moving on. The blue cable looked too thin to be important. But Johan told Thief it was made of stuff called “Fibre optics”. It carried light, not electricity. A higher level of technology than the other cables. So it must be something to do with the AI. That was Johan’s theory, anyway. If he could figure out how to communicate with it, maybe it could help them.
The community tolerated his side project. Especially as he and the other techies contributed to the colony in many ways. Temperature regulation, tools manufacture, the design of appliances needed for everyday life, plus making sure nobody got sucked out of airlocks anymore. Techies deserved respect, like Thief.
“I see you used every match,” Johan sighed, turning the empty bag upside down.
“Sorry!”
“Well, I hope you need to pee, because?” He grinned.
“You’ve told me a dozen times. We make the matches from phosphorous, which comes from dried up pee.”
“Yep. It sure does kiddo! And it takes ages to make them, so try not to burn them all up, eh!”
“Sure. I reckon I’ll know the way back to that storage cell next time, without needing a match.”
“Hmm… best not visit that one for a while. They might have smelt you and be waiting.”
Thief lifted her arm and sniffed a clammy armpit. “Good point, I smell delicious!”
“Yeah, sure you do! Go wash up stinky!” Johan laughed and turned to his workbench.
***
Deck 52. Rear Section. D. Main street.
It felt luxurious to walk through the ship’s wider passageways compared to sliding and shuffling through narrow pipework. Thief didn’t need the light of matches around here either. She knew her home territory well, same as everyone else. Redundant symbols were etched into the walls at each junction or hatchway. From years gone by, but still useful for the little kids.
The quarters she shared with her Mother were on Main street. With the mission’s excitement now ebbing away, Thief remembered she only had underwear on. At least it was dark, but she hurried along; her tough feet used to the rusty metal floors.
Here and there, younger kids played their last games of hide and seek amongst the stacks of crates and the steel gantries that criss-crossed in the gloom overhead. As she neared the major thoroughfare, things grew busier, even at night. Not everyone attempted to maintain a day and night rhythm, even if the lighting provided for it . For some, work didn’t stop.
People came and went about their designated tasks. Cleaning, maintenance, and repair continued. Small stores lined both sides of the street, selling food and provisions to those who had used their weekly allocations. With the artificial dawn, the place would see a doubling of numbers, everyone milling up and down during shift changes. Main street was where you needed to be. To feel part of a community. Thief ducked around people and made her way home as quick as she could.
Her mother still hadn’t changed out of the green nurse’s jumpsuit she wore every day. Like all the adults in Thief’s life, she appeared worn out, but her face brightened at the arrival of her only child.
“I won’t even ask what you did with your clothes.” She looked up from preparing a couple of nutro packs for their evening meal. “Although it better not involve a boy.”
“Mamma!” Thief exclaimed, pulling down the two seats set into the wall of their small kitchen. “I don’t even have a boyfriend. They’re all gross.”
“Well, let’s hope you don’t think they’re gross when it’s your time for motherhood, but I’m glad of your opinion on them for now. Have you been on one of those crazy trips for Johan? No, don’t tell me.” She waved her bony hand in the air, dismissing the question. “I’d rather not know! I can’t get poor Mister Campbell out of mind. Been gone a week now, I think they’ve got him.”
“Well, they won’t get me. I’m too fast, and too clever!”
Her mother sighed. “I’ve given up on talking you out of your adventures. And I am proud of everything you do. But please be careful. I couldn’t cope if a council member knocked on the door to tell me you’d been taken. It would be the end of me, Sarah.”
“It’s Thief mamma!”
“Well, you might be Thief to everyone else, but you’ll always be my little Sarah.”
After a quick sponge wash with their precious water allowance, Thief sat down to the usual bland nutro pack dinner with Mamma. Both turned the conversation to gossip and daily town life.