Dispatches from the Galaxy

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Systems and Security Chief Sue Warrell watched the main security console, endless alerts and questions and worries running across the screen and through her mind. The command pod was small, only five paces across with dark gray curved walls and ceiling, but she loved the secure, comfortable feel of the space.

The chilly temperatures required for the thousands of comps that kept the ship running were a bonus to what she called her high metabolism.

Here more than anywhere else in the vast, interconnected series of living pods, production pods, and mechanical pods that made up Expedition Mission Bellagos, Sue felt at peace.

But today her normally calm and sedate console flashed orange and yellow rather than her beloved green. She was surprised and strangely irritated that not a single one of them advanced into the red of a confirmed failure.

The problem, the worst one in her long career in interstellar security, wasn’t anything as dramatic as a debris strike, onboard systems failure, or a careless adjustment by one of the thousands of crewmembers.

Sue had been through more variations of those disasters than she cared to count, if she had the spare brainpower for counting. She was an expert at pinpointing, solving, and figuring out how to prevent bad choices and bad reactions, or she never would have beaten out thousands of other applicants for this multi-generational mission.

Nothing in her training or experience or her vivid imagination had prepared her for a nightmare straight out of the infancy of the digital age, one only Sue’s youthful obsession with tech history gave her the means to recognize.

A corrupted systems upgrade from Earth HQ had infested the vessel’s operations, interrupting one function after another before anyone realized what was happening. Since a neuro-alarm jarred her out of the hectic routine of getting ready for the supposedly routine update three days ago, Sue and nearly everyone else on board had been on emergency response status.

The nearly two-day-cycle message transit time between Bellagos and Earth HQ wasn’t helping. Sue had sent the alert immediately, but she had no control over sheer distance and time. And she didn’t know the massive software packages nearly as well as she knew the systems that depended on them

Rolling everything back without knowing more—and without assistance from HQ—could make bad enough trouble even worse.

She leaned back, the chair adjusting to her new posture with a faint sigh, and clenched her hands into fists to relieve the stress of hours of non-stop motion over the touch screens. Bio-engineers had perfected the nutrients and stimulants for sleepless days many years ago, ushering in a new age of technological advancement along with chronic overwork. The stims were safe enough if you didn’t push past more than a week with no sleep, though Sue had never gotten used to the bitter, metallic taste and low ringing in her ears that went along with them.

She’d hacked the override on the audible alarms that made the ringing worse years ago, and she blessed that bit of rule breaking if no other.

Unfortunately all the hydro-showers in the galaxy wouldn’t keep the oily stink of stress sweat from building up again. Not until she got some real sleep.

Stims aside, her body reacted to the strain of hours of tapping each orange alert into Investigate status, dispatching someone to the affected sector, and shifting the alert into the yellow of Invalid. Sometimes multiple times on the same blasted alert, and still no reds of confirmed trouble. Noting the fakes on her touch tablet slowed her down too much.

For the last several hours, she’d been relying on her brain’s built-in ability to notice details and understand patterns.

Sue leaned forward, stretching her fingers against her thighs as the chair shifted her into a new angle. She was moving to tap eleven alerts into Invalid status when a piercing alarm broke through her silence hacks. The bass entrance request bong for the door behind her sounded at the same time. Her skull and all of her bones echoed the wretched noise.

“Blast these damn overrides!”

Sue pivoted to the right to slap the door status to Unlocked, then slid all ten fingers upward on the touchscreen to bring up the virtual keyboard. Before she could start typing, the door hissed open.

“What is it?” Sue said, not turning around. “I ordered Emergency Response Status hours ago, meaning no interruption. It better be good.”

“Ma’am, I am so sorry to intrude,” a low voice said.

Sue continued to type, growing more desperate to silence that screeching alarm by the millisecond.

Younger. Male. Odd musical accent, likely the southeastern sector of United North America.

Respectful, but brave enough to face her temper during a mess like this.

“What is it, Mr. Evans?”

The alarm stopped, and Sue let out a breath and shifted her knotted shoulders. She turned to face Security Tech Brandon Evans. He was tall enough to have to hunch a bit to keep more than his thick brown hair from brushing the ceiling, and he was wringing his hands. She’d never known Evans to be the nervous type.

That’s when unease started gnawing around the stress in Sue’s belly.

“We’ve had a problem, ma’am, one I can’t leave to anyone else but you.”

“It can’t possibly be more of a problem than this.” Sue waved an aching hand at the console as another eight lights shifted from green to orange.

“Well, I’m sorry, Chief, but it is.” Evans took a deep breath. “Senior Tech McHugh is missing.”

“What the hell do you mean, missing? In case you’ve forgotten, this is a deep space vessel, Evans. No one can get in or out.”

The gnawing warmed up, much like the lumbar stress relief protocols of her chair kneading against her lower back.

“I understand, ma’am. I made sure to investigate before I brought this to you. Just like you taught us.”

“I also taught you about the geo-sensor, didn’t I?” Sue tapped the tiny bump hidden in the hair above her right ear even as the gnawing in her belly picked up speed. “Mr. McHugh is an experienced member of our crew. He would not simply disappear, even if he could.”

“Yes, ma’am, the tracking screen was the first thing I checked after his son reported him missing. Pull it up if you could, please, and we’ll make sure.”

Sue pushed off with her foot, the numbness spreading through her body keeping her from using the right amount of force. The chair compensated and brought her in front of the ship status console. After three shaky tries, she brought up the tracking screen.

Her eyes darted to the crew count, and her whole body flashed hot, then cold and clammy.

“Eight thousand seven hundred fifty-three,” she whispered. “That can’t be right. Even if he were dead…”

She switched over to the specific report on McHugh, and a deeper chill ran through her.

The yellow of Invalid flashed behind his name.

Not the normal green that every single other person showed, or the sad black of the deceased that Sue hadn’t yet had to deal with on Bellagos.

Not one other crewmember showed that impossible status.

“No one has seen him for more than twelve hours,” Evans said, wringing his hands again. “I knew you’d want me to check with you first, Chief.”

Sue stared at the screen, re-reading that impossible number. She didn’t have to count to know one-third of the systems were now in Invalid, with another quarter still in Alert and under investigation.

She also didn’t need any procedures training to realize she could not possibly deal with one more emergency.

The raging fire in her gut told her that, impossible or not, another had landed in her lap.

“I tried to replay his location for the last day cycle,” Evans said. “Observation recordings, too. Neither system is online.”

“Along with half the systems in this slow-motion disaster.” A quick glance confirmed the whole recording suite was locked in Invalid mode. “Non-essential systems my ass. The data should still be there, but we can’t get at it until I clear everything else.”

“Are we any closer to bringing everything offline for a reset, ma’am?”

“Not until we hear back from Earth HQ and the Great Update Disaster stops knocking things offline at random. Can’t take the chance of missing a real alarm or making everything worse trying to fix it.”

Sue groaned, rubbing her face. “Okay, Evans, you did the right thing. You’re taking lead on this since you obviously know how easily a panic can spread with everyone on edge. Let me see if I can get ahead of this. Bring his son in for a talk. Quietly.”