11 days until Mars arrival

Fear of death was more powerful than death itself. The words echoed in Arachna's mind as she raced through the Yumen corridors.

Having mastered the stealth cloak, she turned her body invisible and had no trouble walking past over a dozen Yumen soldiers.

She entered the Command Deck, completely unnoticed. There were over a dozen Yumen marines patrolling outside the room but no sign of Vapor. She could be lurking in the shadows somewhere so Arachna had to be extra careful. Even with her stealth cloak activated, tried to keep to shadow spaces. No reason to take any additional risks.

Commander Rip Graves sat in the center of the room, looking out a large glassy window that peered out into space. Stars flew by like lightning bugs in a hurry. Horde, how fast was the ship going?

There were ten other Yumens seated around the room, each by a small glowing screen, busily typing commands into their consoles. Lights flashed in an assortment of colors from the different screens indicating everything from speed to environmental controls to trajectory.

There was one other Yumen she recognized, who stood next to Commander Graves. This one was a portly fellow dressed in an engineering uniform.

"Controls are broken," an engineer she recognized as Chief said, examining a holographic projection of the control panel from the engine room. Smoke rose from the console, which had holes in it and frayed wiring.

Right, Arachna thought to herself. That was her doing. When she'd previously fled the engine room in haste, she'd been dripping in acidic blood, some of which must've fallen on the control panel down below.

"Circuits are fried," Chief said. "Quantum computer's busted. That's why you've lost control of the ship."

"You've lost control," a female Yumen said. She was seated beside Graves and didn't bother to look up from her console while she spoke.

Chief gave her an irritated look. "Yes, well, Lieutenant Commander Sarka," he said. "The Krath—"

"Well, how long until we can fix it?" interjected Commander Rip Graves, breaking the awkward moment. His face was noticeably paler than the last time she saw him, and he wore a bandage around his forehead with glowing lights attached.

"Well, that's the thing," Chief said. "It could take a week or two given that we're missing our best engineer. We do have a spare quantum chip on board but the rifter you released from cryo has been trying to commandeer it."

"Nonsense," Graves said. "We need to safely fly this ship. Do whatever you need to get this working again. What does this mean about our travel?"

"Well," Chief said. "Our Xither-drive is working just fine it's just the quantum navigation that is shot."

"What does that mean," Commander Graves said, leaning in his wheelchair. "Give me the bottom line."

"Bottom line," Chief said. "If we fix this soon, then we should get to Mars in time with no problem. If we don't then—"

"Then what?" Graves asked.

"Then we can't safely pull out of FTL," Chief said. "We're effectively stuck on our current trajectory, and we have to hope we don't run into any debris or we're goners."

"What will happen if we try to do it manually?" Lieutenant Commander Sarka asked.

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"Not a good idea," Rip said, turning to his second-in-command. "Chief?"

"We would face a quantum collapse," Chief said. "If we tried a manual override without a quantum processor."

Lieutenant Commander Sarka was silent, her neck muscles tensing. In contrast, Commander Graves remained calm and relaxed, taking in the situation without showing his nerves."

"But," Chief said. "We should be able to fix it. Just wish we still had our best engineer."

"What happened to him?" Graves asked. "If he's on leave, I can arrange to have him brought back. Void the Union rules."

Chief reacted with a smirk before bringing his facial muscles under control. "Well," Chief said. "His name is Humboldt Carlsen."

Command Graves grunted, grinding his teeth. "Fine," he said. "I'll have the warrant for his arrest downgraded to non-lethal force only. That better?"

"Much," Chief said, lips curling upward.

"Really, Commander?" Sarka said, her lips curling to one side. "He is an enemy of the people."

Graves shrugged. "If he is able to help save us, then amnesty may be a cause for consideration. Run a search for his whereabouts.

Sarka began typing into her console, and images of Humboldt Carlsen flashed onto her screen. Arachna felt a strange sense of embarrassment at seeing the face. What was this emotion? Was this how Yumens felt when others looked at them? Strange to be embarrassed about being the subject of attention.

"But can you do it without him?" Graves asked, turning to Chief. "For all we know, he could be Krath food."

"Yes," Chief said, raising his brows as if he was himself uncertain. Then he simply responded, "Of course."

"You better," Graves said. "Or we're all dead."

"I realize that," Chief said.

"I've detected a login by Engineer Carlsen," Sarka said, looking up from her screen. "Looks like he was researching Old Earth."

"Strange," Chief said. "Why would he do that?"

"No idea," Commander Graves said. "Does it say anything about where the login came from?"

"Yes," Sarka said. "Looks like he's been hiding out in the trash compactor."

"Void," Graves said, shaking his head. "So that's why it's been broken all week. Well, solves one of our mysteries."

"Yes," Sarka said. "Maybe two mysteries. We've had a handful of men go missing and it turns out their last known whereabouts was also the trash compactor."

Graves shook his head. "So either we've got a growing mutiny on our hands or this Carlsen and his compatriots have been taking prisoners. Lieutenant, why don't you take some men and see if you can find our mystery engineer?"

"Sir, yes Sir," Sarka said, saluting. She turned and made her way toward the exit.

"I should come too," Chief said. "He'll recognize me. May make things more peaceful."

"I need you working on the engine," Graves said. "Get this ship fixed, pronto."

"But—" Chief said.

"Not your decision, Chief," Commander Graves said. "Fix this flying hunk of junk or we're all space toast."

"Okay," Chief said. "But please alert me once Carlsen is taken into custody."

"Will do, Chief," Graves said. "Will do."

Arachna watched in silence as the portly Chief exited the Command deck, making for the engineering bay. She'd come here in search of a way to take control of the ship, and figure out how to sabotage it. What better place to do so than here? But it turned out she had already been on the right track from the beginning.

What was more concerning was this Sarka who appeared to be in a position of authority. If she barged into the trash compactor looking for Carlsen, she still might end up finding Beaky. Arachna needed to warn him fast.

"To think," Commander Graves said aloud, mostly to himself. "This was supposed to be my final mission before Admiralty. Some ball of fungus this turned out to be. I'll not be surprised if they revoke my promotion after this."

"I'm sorry, sir," Chief said, nonplussed.

"No you're not," Graves said, chuckling. "I need to go go to the Medica for my daily stims." He clicked a button and his chair detached from the Commander's seat. The wheelchair, on auto-pilot, began making its way down out of the room. Several medics were at the door, waiting to escort Commander Graves to the Medica.

Chief gawked as Rip made for the exit. "Didn't you just send your Lieutenant Commander to search for Carlsen?" he said. "Then who is going to fly the Eschaton?"

Rip turned peered to the side of his motorized chair and glanced backward at Chief. "It's like you said, Chief," Rip said in a jovial tone. "There's no piloting anything until we get that engine fixed. For now, I'm going to get my daily stims or my regeneration spike will have been wasted. Then maybe I'll get some Zzzs. No point in my worrying, Chief. It's you who needs to on your 'A' game."

Chief said nothing, his jaw hanging loose and his eyebrows raised.

Rip patted the side of his self-driving chair before leaning back his head and rolling out the door.

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Lieutenant Commander Sarka