A strong feeling of motion sickness hit him in an instant. He threw up, and the ventilator attached to his face automatically sucked it up. He could hear a beeping sound coming from inside his pod, as a cloud of steam escaped once the hatch opened.

This is the worst I have ever felt in my entire life...

Disconcerted, he sat and ran his hand through his hair, eyes shut. "I'm not in the Novus anymore..." He squinted as his eyes got used to the light, barely distinguishing a round silhouette hovering by his side.

A ship's drone, probably.

"Passenger #29317, Alan Warden. Your presence is required in room #13, East Wing, Block C. Priority: Immediate."

Yeah, that's a drone for you.

"Why did you log me out? Protocol states…"

"You will receive new orders once you reach room #13, Area C. I will be your escort along the way. Follow me, please."

"Even though you're asking me nicely...” he grunted, “I’ll need a minute to recover from the decompression, you know."

"Permission to apply an adrenaline dose—”

"W-wait, hold on!!”

“—to Passenger #29317, Alan Warden. Granted."

“That won’t be necce—Argh! And you freaking did it!”

“Please dress up and follow me.” 

The slick white hovering ball made its way towards the exit while Alan looked at his surroundings, fully awake, admiring thousands of capsules arranged in numerical order, every one of them occupied by others like him. 

The Tandem... The last survivors of earth. 

Before getting into cryosleep, every passenger had been instructed to get naked and store their clothes inside their chamber. He found his compartment easily as if he had used it yesterday. Even though a week has passed inside my mind.

Fully dressed, he got out of his cryopod and stepped on the automatic track that would get him out of there, as he glanced at his other brothers. They were still securely sleeping and logged into The Novus.

Astrid is not here, they sent her to a different chamber with the rest of the women.

“Please enter the elevator.”

“What’s all this, anyway? Did an engine blow off?” He joked, but the silence from the drone unnerved him.

It took him five minutes to reach his destination. The number 13 was ominously written on the white sliding door.

The interior only had the minimum requirements for a person to live on it. A bed that could be stored with the push of a button, a small bathroom and shower area, a desk, and a monitor incorporated into a wall.

“You will receive further instructions in a minute,” the drone said, and a timer appeared on the screen. “Thank you for your cooperation. Have a nice day.”

“Nice day, my ass,” Alan muttered once the door shut behind him. “I feel like a freaking prisoner.”

He glanced again at the timer, showing that 49 seconds remained. He approached a closed window and tried to activate it, but the red light showed it was locked.

It’s not like I wanted to see the blackness of space, anyway...

Another glance at the monitor. Thirty-five seconds remaining.

He inspected the bathroom, looked at the emptiness of his desk, and finally sat on the edge of the bed.

17 seconds.

No, seriously, what did I do?

13 seconds.

The decompression process takes approximately eight hours. Eight freaking hours have passed since I left the Novus…

7 seconds.

And since our consciousness gets directly connected to a collective neural network, where the system can load and process our thoughts at a greater speed than humanly possible, time inside the Novus passes faster. So for Astrid, it has been like almost two days since I got disconnected…

1 second.

There better be a good explanation for this, or I’ll…

The screen flashed for a second and the Santa María ship’s crest appeared, which displayed a mermaid carrying a vase pouring water, encircled by stars, followed by a hexagonal logo he knew well.

“Greetings, Passenger #29317, Alan Warden. How are you feeling today?” A monotonous voice trying to be cheerful spoke.

Alan's annoyance quickly turned into fear and anxiety. Why am I being addressed by the ship’s main computer instead of the active captain, the head of security, or at least someone with a face?!

"Um, hi… I-I'm good. I’m good."

"That's nice to hear, because we at Alvearium Enterprise, care for your safety."

"Sure." He swallowed hard. "Can you tell me what I'm doing here, please?"

"Of course, Alan. But we have to discuss something first. According to your record, you signed up to be a technician for this ship. Is that correct, Alan?"

"Y-yeah, but I got rejected because I failed the last test."

"That will not be an issue anymore. In the absence of former Captain—"

"A-absence?!"

"Robert Bosniak, I, the Santa María's main A.I., codename Isabella, have been promoted to Captain—"

"H-hold on!"

"—of The Santa María, Chief of Security, and Protector of Humankind… So I, Isabella, promote you to Chief Technician until further notice."

"Could you please tell me what happened to Captain Bosniak? Did he get sick?"

"I’m sorry. But I’m afraid that info is classified."

"What about the rest of the ship's staff?! Anybody could fill the position better than me!"

“Do not worry! I can provide you with video tutorials and technical documentation so you can be up to the task. So what do you say?”

“Did something bad happen, Isabella?”

"I’m sorry. But I’m afraid that info is classified."

He closed his fists and raised his voice. "If I'm the new Chief whatever, I request permission to know what happened."

"Chief Technician, Alan Warden, are you implying that not knowing the requested information may affect your work performance, by causing you mental stress?"

"Yes! That's what's happening right now!"

"Understood. In that case, Passenger #29317, Alan Warden, I will demote you to Maintenance Assistant…"

"Oh, come on!"

"...Until further notice. Please understand that you are not currently in the best mental and physical condition to know the solicited requests. We can discuss the details later when you have completed your training."

All the bickering made Alan forget why he had been summoned there. His eyes opened wide and his voice broke. “W-wait, come again? What training?”

“The Santa María ship needs some repairs that regular drones cannot do. Until the ship returns to a self-sufficient status, you will be in charge of doing the necessary—”

“How much time will it take me?!” he cried, placing both of his palms against the monitor. “Because I need to go back to the Novus. Someone is waiting for me!”

“Maintenance Assistant, Alan Warden.”

“Y-yes ma’am?”

“Protocol might dictate that all non-staff passengers of the Santa María must remain logged into the Novus at all times. But please, believe me, this situation is extraordinary. So for the time being, the ship requires your services.”

“I-I’m not refusing to do the work, I signed up for it from the very beginning…” He said in a quiet voice, looking away and taking a step back. “That I was even logged into The Novus was like a miracle to me. I just want to know how much time I’ll be away from the system.”

His mind got filled with the memory of the one he left behind. Her melodic voice, her shiny blonde hair, her deep blue eyes.

The monitor remained silent for a couple of seconds.

“I can make an estimate, but it will take me some time. That would also depend on how well you adapt to the work. For the time being, rest here until your body recovers from the decompression process. Entertainment will be provided to you through this monitor, and dinner will be served in… 120 minutes. Sleep well, and my apologies for any inconvenience this situation may cause you."

The monitor turned off automatically, leaving only a distorted dark reflection of him.

“Yeah, glad to help! Glad to… Oh, god...”

He threw himself into the bed, watching the immaculate blankness of his temporary rooftop.

No matter how much time passes, it will be multiplied by five inside the Novus, anyway.

“So I’m screwed.”

And most important of all, what happened to the staff of The Santa María? At least 50 adults, men, and women volunteered to work outside the Novus for the safety of the ship and its passengers.

The only thought that kept him fully awake until dinner time was whether the entire crew had died in an accident.

A very nightmarish idea…

 

***

 

“Good morning, Maintenance Assistant, Alan Warden. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m feeling pretty well,” Alan replied while standing in the center of the room, wearing the yellow working clothes that had been provided to him through a delivery tube.

“Was the shower temperature to your liking, Alan?”

“Good enough, thanks. I just have a brief question, Captain Isabella.”

“You do not have to call me by that title. Just call me Isabella. And I would love to answer your questions. As long as—”

“I won’t ask anything classified, I promise. I was just wondering, who’s cooking?”

“Was dinner and your breakfast not to your liking?”

“I mean, don’t take it personally, it was edible. But was tomato and corn soup the only thing you had?”

“I’m hearing a tone of discomfort in your voice. I will try to serve you a bigger range of flavors in your next meals.”

“Can I be the one cooking?”

“I’m sorry, but The Santa María has no kitchens. The food that you have ingested is a series of chemicals that—”

“Wait, never mind. You don’t need to explain it…”

“If it makes you feel better, the food you will be enjoying for the next year…”

“Did you say year?!”

“...Has a more diverse taste than the paste we provide to the other passengers. Isn't that great?”

“You said a year… Will I spend that much time outside the Novus?”

“One year and 4 months. I have run a simulation, and that is the estimated time for you to finish the work.”

“Do you have a schedule?”

“I will display it on your monitor.”

The screen showed a calendar, which Alan studied for a minute, using the touch screen to advance through it. “So I’ll be working 10 hours a day?”

“Affirmative. According to the Department of Working Ethics…”

“Change it to 18 hours.”

“May I advise against it? Such a load of work could cause mental and physical—”

“I can do it,” Alan said aloud, staring at the camera above the monitor. “If you ever detect that my performance is plummeting, you can readjust the schedule again. Got it?”

“Understood. Working Calendar updated.”

“1 year and 4 months,” he muttered, glancing at the monitor. That would turn into 6 years and 8 months inside the Novus. 

I’ll do my best to take less time than that...