Draft 2

Helen loved Cargo Bay 4. The massive bio-dome was just like Omni-Corp’s brochures, complete with primordial terra-loam, rows of bio-stasis pods, and dormant terraforming kits, all waiting to be dropped onto the barren surface of the distant mining world on the edge of explored space, Colony Outpost 42-Kaelen.

Helen moved down the aisle between the soil-processing units. Seven detached from her suit and hovered just over her right shoulder, his blue optic sweeping the damp, shadowy space.

“Ambient humidity is currently at eighty-two percent, Madam,” Seven vibrated. “If we remain in the chamber for longer than two hours, the moisture will begin to oxidize my exposed servo-joints. Furthermore, the Persephone’s internal rust accumulation will increase by—”

“Quiet, Seven. Listen.” Helen held up a hand.

Seven silenced his servos. Beneath the thrum of the ship, Helen caught a faint, high-pitched sound echoing down the aisle. She followed the noise and stopped in front of Humidifier Unit 7B. A small red light was pulsing on its control board.

She unclipped her diagnostic pad, plugged a cable into the unit’s port, and sighed with relief.

“It’s a misaligned thermal sensor.” Helen pulled her hydrospanner from her belt. “The moisture buildup in the filter tripped a false heat warning, so the system locked itself down. Standard Omni-Corp cheap manufacturing.”

“Statistically, Omni-Corp products have a failure rate of—”

“Too high, I know. Just keep your optic peeled for any more red lights while I bypass this filter.”

Helen popped the casing, bypassed the filter, and recalibrated the sensor with three turns of her spanner. The red light blinked, turned green, and the humidifier hummed back to life, blowing a faint mist into the air.

“Problem solved.” Helen wiped her hands on her jumpsuit.

As she turned to leave, something caught her eye. Near the aft bulkhead, adjacent to the primary coolant lines Magnus had been complaining about, a series of secondary access panels were sealed shut. The digital locks glowed red.

Helen frowned. Magnus was right. “Why are the maintenance panels locked down?”

She stepped up to the bulkhead and punched her Chief Engineer override code into the keypad. The light flipped to green, and the panels opened, exposing the ship’s vital coolant veins.

“Ah, Helen Mitchell.”

Helen jumped and spun around.

Claude Kinskey stood at the end of the aisle. The ship’s science officer wore a white lab coat over his jumpsuit and held a datapad. He looked exactly as Helen knew him, harmless and mild-mannered.

“Kinskey. Did you lock these maintenance panels?”

“I did. My apologies if it caused an inconvenience.” He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and gestured to the nearest row of bio-stasis pods. “I am running a highly sensitive temperature calibration on the microbial soil samples. The Luna Hub dockworkers are notoriously careless. If they had opened those panels to tinker with the pumps, the sudden draft of excess heat from the exposed coolant lines, not to mention them clanging their tools around inside the bulkhead, would have completely destabilized my readings. It could ruin the entire batch before we even break orbit.”

Helen looked from Claude to the exposed pumps, then to the sensitive terraforming equipment. It made perfect sense. Omni-Corp’s bio-samples were temperamental.

“I get it.” Helen slid her hydrospanner back into her belt. “But next time, clear it with Engineering before you lock us out of our own bulkheads. If a coolant line blows, I need immediate access.”

“Of course, Chief Mitchell. Protocol dictates open communication. It won’t happen again.” Claude smiled.

“Wrap up your calibrations. We’re getting ready to leave.” Helen tapped the comms unit on her collar. “Engineering to Flight Command. Cargo Bay 4 is green-lit. The stasis monitors are stable. It was just a clogged thermal filter.”

John’s voice crackled over the earpiece. “Copy that, Helen. Fantastic work. Let’s get the hell out of here before Omni-Corp finds another reason to fine us.”

The ship-wide intercom chimed with John’s voice. “Attention crew, this is the Captain. Cargo is secure. Initiating a T-minus forty-five minute countdown to launch. Get to your stations.”

Helen switched her radio frequency. “Magnus, you copy that? Fire up the main slip-drive. Let it warm up slow. And tell the Luna Hub dockworkers to prep the umbilicals for release.”

“Copy, Chief. Slip-drive is warming. The dockworkers are already unlatching the primary clamps. They want us out of their hair as much as we want to go.”

***

09:50 Luna Hub Time (T-Minus 10 Minutes to Launch)

When Helen stepped onto the bridge, the pre-launch operations was in full swing.

The bridge was cramped and utilitarian, its gray bulkheads bathed in the glow of monitors and the forward viewport. Outside, the lights of Luna Hub reflected off the gantry arms that still held the Persephone in their grip.

Janet Wilson, the ship’s comms and medical officer, was already strapped into her station on the port side, running through the final cargo manifest checklists.

Claude arrived shortly after, taking a seat at the science station. Then a moment later Magnus swaggered in, dropping into his jump seat.

Helen walked toward the front of the bridge and took her seat at the engineering console.

The arrangement of the chairs bothered her. The Captain and Navigator chairs were positioned at the front of the bridge, side-by-side, sharing a dual-console. Helen’s engineering station was positioned behind them and to the right.

From her seat, Helen was forced to watch the backs of their heads.

“Luna Control, this is Persephone,” Ingrid said. “Requesting final departure vector. Slip-drive is at eighty percent capacity and climbing.”

“Copy, Persephone,” a traffic controller replied over the speakers. “Vector four-niner-bravo. Omni-Corp dispatch notes your scheduled refueling stop at Charon Outpost. Be advised, your final delivery window at the colony is strict. Financial penalties will apply for any delays once you enter the Dead Zone. Fly safe.”

“Heard loud and clear, Control.” John flipped a row of overhead switches. “We’ll be on time.”

John and Ingrid moved in synchronization. When John reached for the thruster toggles, Ingrid’s hand was already moving to adjust the stabilizing gyros.

“Pitching up two degrees, John.” Ingrid’s eyes were on the telemetry readouts.

“I see it,” John said. “Hold her steady, Ingy. Let’s ease her off the dock.”

Ingy.

Helen stared at the readout on her own console. Unit Seven, still clinging to the velcro on her jumpsuit, buzzed softly.

“Madam, your heart rate has elevated by twelve percent. Shall I ask Janet for a mild sedative?”

“Mute your audio, Seven.”

She looked up again. John and Ingrid were leaning toward each other, looking at the same central navigation screen, their shoulders inches apart. They looked like partners. They looked like a couple flying their ship, while the rest of the crew just caught a ride in the back.

“Engineering is green, Captain.” Helen’s voice was a little louder than necessary. “Umbilicals detached. We are free and clear.”

John didn’t turn around, his eyes were fixed on the stars beyond the viewport. “Engage main thrusters. Next stop is the truck stop on Pluto’s moon, Charon Outpost, where we’ll top off the tanks before entering the Dead Zone.”

Looping video of Helen walking in the bio-dome of Cargo Bay 4. Seven is hovering nearby.