Chapter 6
Torian awoke to the lights brightening all at once.
She jolted upright in bed, and it took more than a few precious seconds to orient herself.
This wasn’t Amelia’s ship. For one, Fransis wasn’t snoring. (Torian wouldn’t miss waking up to that.) Her bunk definitely wasn’t this comfortable. And even on full-bright, the lights felt like what she imagined warm sunshine was like—comfortable and encouraging, not artificial and abrasive.
“Awaken faster,” a voice overhead said.
Moss.
In that groggy span between asleep and awake, Torian had thought it was all a dream. That she hallucinated (vividly, apparently) purchasing an odd alien ship and befriending its unique inhabitant.
But as she blinked past bleary eyes, the ship came into focus. The sleeping pod, cozy and quiet. The living space beyond the pod’s open door. The glimmering of distant stars beyond the windows.
Stars.
Wait. They were through the wormhole already?
“Ah, shit,” Torian exclaimed, catapulting out of bed. “We’re already here?”
“If ‘already here’ is defined as ‘slid into a random pocket of space due to catastrophic engine failure,’ then yes. We are already here.” It wasn’t spoken with a sarcastic tone, but it probably should have been.
Torian paused in clawing her shoulder-length hair into some semblance of order. It was usually pretty flat, but the humidity wasn’t doing it favors. “What? Catastrophic engine failure?”
This had to be a joke.
… Actually, the joke was that Torian hadn’t considered this as a possibility before. She’d been so excited to leave Colony 13 that she ignored basic safety procedures, such as hiring a Heavens-damned mechanic to inspect her new purchase.
Granted, she’d spent her remaining money on food, so anything else would have been tough to manage.
(She still hated that Amelia had been right.)
Moss dimmed the lights now that she was awake. The stark adjustment meant Torian nearly tripped as she staggered down the stairs to the cargo bay, where her duffel bag had been discarded. She caught herself on the metal banister, glared at the ceiling.
“Humans need a little light to see,” she said pointedly.
The lights eased on. “The flight deck is in the opposite direction.” Moss sounded annoyed.
Torian huffed. “I know, but I’m not dressed.” She’d removed her dirty clothes from yesterday and slept in a tank top and underwear. Hardly “catastrophic engine failure” attire. Since they hadn’t exploded in space, she figured she had a minute.
“The ship is a comfortable temperature for human standards.”
Torian pawed through her duffel, swapping her musty shirt for something cleaner. “I still need clothes, Moss.” While she tugged on a fresh pair of pants and her boots, she demanded, “What happened to the engine? Can I fix it?”
“Unless you are also a mechanic human, it is doubtful.” Moss illuminated a light at the top of the stairs, clearly leading her to the flight deck.
“I am the only intelligent system on this ship. The engine has basic functionality, however, and was able to reroute power to our secondary propulsion unit.”
“Wait. There’s a backup propulsion system?” Humans had backup systems, too, but most of them involved lifeboats or shutting down unnecessary systems until their SOS beacon flagged someone down.
Her heart was still racing, but that sounded a bit more optimistic than “catastrophic engine failure.”
She jogged to the flight deck. The whole trip took only a few seconds, which was convenient for an emergency. In that moment, Torian was grateful she couldn’t afford anything bigger than this ship.
Overhead, Moss was still talking. “Yes. Every nylarian ship was required to have a secondary propulsion system. It has similar capabilities to the primary propulsion system, albeit with a shorter lifespan. It would be sufficient to get us to Rhymarra.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Torian slid into the pilot’s seat, facing the control panel. It was awash in red indicators, and she started poking around for more information.
She realized the issue the moment Moss voiced it.
“Auto-Navigation is also a very, very stupid system. It’s rerouted us from our intended destination to an established maintenance base.”
Torian enlarged the holographic map of the humans’ solar system. Moss’s version had been updated with Rhymarra and humanity’s eighteen space stations. But the ship wasn’t angling toward any of those.
No, the Destitute appeared to be flying directly for the Kialoa Nebula. The nebula infamous for its frequent, almost paranormal starship disappearances.
Well, fuck.
“That’s a dead zone,” Torian spluttered.
“Millennia ago, it was this ship’s safe port. Today … dead zone is somewhat accurate.”
Heart pounding yet again, Torian drew a slow breath, analyzing the console. Moss also didn’t seem to know how to interrupt the flight path, evidenced by its lack of written instructions. So … it was all on Torian to figure this out.
Maybe Auto-Nav could respond to voice commands. Torian cleared her throat and said, “Auto-Navigation. Respond.”
A mechanical voice, flat in tone and inflection, said, “Awaiting command.”
“This is futile,” Moss said.
“We won’t know until we ask.” Torian redirected her attention to the console, where she assumed this system was located. “Auto-Navigation. Cancel reroute. Authority: Captain Razner.”
“Reroute unable to be canceled. Request denied,” the auto-nav said. It spoke neutrally, but to Torian’s panicked ears, it sounded almost cheerful.
“Cancel reroute.”
“Request denied!”
Moss added, “This system has no reasoning capabilities.” A pause, followed by a deadpan “Trust me. I’ve tried.”
Torian slid back in the pilot’s seat, glancing around for … an owner’s manual, or something. Which she knew was stupid, but also, damn it, some instruction would be helpful right now. “Can you overtake its system? Force it to reroute?”
“I am life support. I was never intended to take navigational control of the ship.”
“You’re so advanced. Can’t you try?” Torian pleaded.
Moss was silent for a moment. “Attempt number 7,323 failed.”
That was definitely sarcasm.
Torian released a frustrated huff. “So, there’s nothing we can do? Why did you wake me up if we’re just going to catapult to our deaths anyway?”
“This nebula will not be my death. As long as the Destitute has a hull, I will survive in my closed system.”
“So, I’m the only one who’s fucked.”
“Correct.”
Torian laughed hysterically and went back to the auto-navigation system, even as the starship seamlessly entered another wormhole and darkness winked over them.
Facing total black, knowing they’d be dead in space when they spit out, desperation slowly faded into misery as Torian prodded the flight panel in a dozen different ways.
No success. Some instruction set deep within the core of this ship had activated, and nothing could override it. Like it or not, they had become prisoners the moment the engine failed.
Torian finally pushed back from the console, feeling numb. Whatever was going to kill them, it wasn’t happening fast—like the last wormhole, they’d probably be here a while.
“I think I need a cup of coffee.” There wasn’t anything else to do here. She left the flight deck and trudged to the kitchenette instead.
Moss asked overhead, “Have I failed you?”
“What?” Torian balked, stopping short in the middle of the staircase. “You didn’t cause the engine to fail, or the auto-nav to lose its mind.”
“It has no mind. It is a conglomerate of eons-old code and terrible conversation tactics.”
“Not like you. You’re delightful,” Torian said, an inkling of humor making her smile.
Moss replied, “Yes. I am.”
Torian started walking again, swallowing a yawn. “As long as I’m still breathing, Moss, you didn’t fail me. And even if I stop … I know you tried your best.”
Moss didn’t speak for a few moments. Then it said, “You will not perish from lack of food or basic necessities. In addition to the supplies you brought, there is extra food storage in the cargo bay. In addition, I am a renewable system. It is possible that together, we can repair the engine once we’ve reached our new destination. ”
“Well, that’s something.” Being stranded in space sounded like the start of a horror movie, but Torian was quickly shifting her image into something more pleasant.
She could launch an SOS, and in the meantime, she could decorate the ship.
Cross-stitch something. Study alien engineering—there had to be some reference books here somewhere.
And it wasn’t like the isolation would kill her … not with Moss to chat with.
Might kill Celise, though.
And that was the crux of this. Torian couldn’t be stuck here—not when Celise would never know where she wound up. Not when her sister’s time was running out.
A quiet thought entered the back of her mind: Maybe Amelia was tracking her.
She was the one who suggested this scenario: dead in space, no one to rescue her.
There wasn’t really any reason for Amelia to track Torian’s new ship …
but if she did, it’d mean Amelia did actually care about Torian more than she let on.
Torian wanted that, in her heart of hearts.
But then logic intervened, and frustration settled over the yearning. She shouldn’t be waiting for Amelia Perrosk to find her. She shouldn’t still be hoping that Amelia had feelings buried somewhere. Amelia had moved on six months ago. Whatever they might have been—she’d never know.
And that had to be okay.
Coffee. Then she could tackle one of her existential crises.
Torian pulled out one of the coffee containers she’d stuffed in the cabinet last night, and glanced around for any kind of brewer. She’d just assumed a ship would have one—it was standard issue on most starships.
Here, she came up empty.
Well. Time to get creative. But as she pulled out a pot and poured water into it, Moss said, “Are you searching for a method of heating water? There is a ravla pot in the corner of the counter.”
“What the hell is ravla?” Torian asked, pausing in her efforts.