Prisoner Six

Part 2

The Externo was a de-commissioned outlander, reinstated and renamed after the distant asteroid of its classified mission. An aging, deep-space vessel with artificial gravity, the Externo's control deck, observation deck, and other compartments each rotated on an outer "wheel" that spun to create gravity. This wheel connected to the central airlocks by way of gravity-neutral "spokes." To get to the center, one climbed a ladder into a spoke, becoming weightless halfway through the climb, and floated the final length into the central airlocks.

This design had eventually gone out of fashion for deep-space vessels, since compartments were isolated and getting from one to another could be cumbersome. One either had to walk around the entire length of the wheel, or else take a zero-G shortcut across the spokes. Yet this design was specifically chosen for the Externo mission because of compartment isolation, which allowed the prisoner observation deck to be locked off from the other compartments-and its spoke sealed off from the central airlocks.

It other words, it was an effective quarantine.

It also meant it was a long walk around the wheel to the control deck. And rather than hurry, or take a shortcut through a neighboring spoke, Sam walked the full length at leisure, checking each compartment's readouts along the way-despite the minutes continuing to BEEP by over the intercom.

By the time she entered the control deck, the alarm BEEPED loudly for every passing second, with Vox's voice adding to the panicky countdown.

"30 seconds... 29... 28... 27..."

"I'm here Vox. Shut up, already."

Sam approached the control panel; a semicircle of smooth touchpads with video screens mounted overhead. She entered a twelve-digit code on the touchpads, pressed her thumb to center of the panel, and hit the re-set button. The alarms fell silent and Sam slumped into her seat.

"Cutting it pretty close, aren't we?" said Vox, who wasn't really a person. Vox was a Video Operating Executive-a glorified computer assistant. The voice program was supposed to make it more personal, less lonely, but no matter which voice signature Sam chose, Vox always managed to sound condescending. Like that flight instructor back home who'd always called her "sweetie."

Sam made a mental note to try the female 60+ voice next. Perhaps that would sound more comforting.

"I pressed it, didn't I?"

Vox didn't respond, but its silence was equally patronizing.

"I'm fine," she said, more to herself than to her computer assistant.

"The self-destruct failsafe is an emergency procedure only. You are meant to enter the code at the start of the eleventh hour, not the end," Vox reminded her.

"I know."

"Then why-?"

"I don't know. I just... need the time to decide, that's all."

"Whether or not to live?"

Yes, Sam thought, a sense of dread prickling in the back of her mind, but she deflected the question.

"They're going to die anyway, you know that, right? No one can survive on that rock. Maybe the failsafe would end things quicker."

"That is not your mission," said Vox. "Besides, we do not know what they can endure. We do not know anything about them."

"Exactly."

Sam fell silent as the familiar sense of dread returned. For many months now-perhaps from the moment she'd stepped aboard the ship-Sam had felt a nagging sense that she would not survive the journey. That some accident, some failure, or perhaps even her own hand, would render this a one-way trip.