Compete (54 page)

The things we are taught about the Jump process in our various classes are also intimidating.

“During the final week leading up to the Jump,” Instructor Mithrat Okoi tells us, “all Fleet Pilots will remain inside. At this time, no one will be allowed to fly ship-to-ship in the Stream—not even the
astra daimon
. Your classwork on flight simulators will proceed as usual, but on the day immediately preceding and following the Jump, there will be no classes held.”

“The experience of the Jump is highly complex and individualized,” Instructor Nilara Gradat tells us in Culture Class, on the day she has a guest doctor attending the lecture, to answer our medical questions. “As the fabric of the Quantum Stream around us grows more and more unstable, even the presence of the ship’s powerful shields and various life support systems is inadequate to protect living beings from all the effects. Many people suffer what is called
Jump sickness
—both before and after the Jump itself.”

Immediately hands go up, as concerned students want to know more.

“Jump sickness symptoms include disorientation, dizziness, loss of consciousness, and various forms of agitation, temporary loss of motor function,” the Atlantean doctor picks up at this point and speaks to us. “Some of you might experience nausea, difficulty breathing, elevated pulse rates and panic, others a full body flush and circulation issues. There is also the danger of panic attacks causing you to harm yourself accidentally.”

Nilara Gradat nods. “For that reason, everyone on the ship—passengers and crew—will be confined to their sleeping bunks, where you will engage the safety harness system. You will lie down and stay flat in bed at least fifteen minutes before the Jump and fifteen minutes after. Fortunately the effects dissipate quickly, and most of you should be sufficiently recovered within the hour.”

A girl raises her hand and asks tremulously. “How does the actual moment of the Jump feel? Does it—
hurt?
”

The doctor shakes his head. “No, it is painless, but it can feel like a momentary loss of consciousness for most people, which is not particularly pleasant. That’s why we strongly recommend you lie in your bed and try not to move too much. The ship’s automated system will issue a thirty-minute warning countdown, to give you plenty of time to prepare.”

And then we are told: “You will undergo physical examinations to once again test your hormone levels. If the hormonal balance in your body does not match the safe range, you will be given treatments the day before the Jump.”

In the meantime, our Technology and Systems Instructor, Klavit Xitoi, informs us of another aspect of the process. “To protect against the effects of the Jump, we employ a Stasis System. For that purpose, there’s a cold storage chamber on Deck Level 5. It contains ten emergency storage capsules for those on this ship who are most vulnerable. That includes anyone over and under the safe age.”

He adds: “Some of your older instructors will be using the capsules, and some of you on this ship who test most poorly on the hormone level exams will be chosen to go into the capsules—all for your own safety. Unfortunately the selection is limited to a handful of individuals, and they will be chosen on the recommendation of the medical team.”

Instructor Xitoi then takes us on a tour of the Stasis Deck. We go down the spiral stairwells to Level 5, and then into a large brightly lit chamber with two rows of five capsules, surrounded by computer consoles. They look like large glass coffins, and we are given an explanation on how to operate them.

“One thing you don’t need to worry about,” Instructor Xitoi says in conclusion, “is the fact that all the ark-ships employ an automated Jump Protocol, so that once the Jump System is engaged, no personnel on duty are necessary. The ship takes care of the whole Jump process. So there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of.”

Yeah, right. . . .

Overall, I would say most of us are now sufficiently terrified that we can’t wait for this Jump nightmare to be over already.

A
t last, Jump Day is here.

The day before, I go in to the medical deck for my hormone level exam, and fortunately I’m within normal range, so I don’t get any hormone boosters. Some of the other teens are less fortunate, and they end up with a variety of shots and have to drink some kind of clear liquid that supposedly tastes foul.

I check up on my siblings, and apparently both test as safely within normal range, so no boosters for them, thank goodness.

Today, everyone’s duties on board the ship are very light. I wake up at 7:00 AM, feeling nervous butterflies in my stomach as though it’s a day of competition of some sort. I force myself to eat breakfast, then head to the CCO.

The Command Pilot is away doing ship inspections, so it’s basically Gennio, Anu and myself for the next couple of hours. They are running major Jump System diagnostics, and I help as much as I am able, which is not too much at all. This system is so critical that I am not allowed to touch anything, only respond by reading off status code numbers on the screen when asked.

The Jump itself is scheduled for 2:35 PM this afternoon. That’s when the Fleet will finally reach the necessary optimal velocity to achieve the Jump.

“Don’t eat a big lunch,” Anu mumbles to us as we work on multiple consoles. “Unless you want to be tossing up the contents of your stomach from Jump sickness.”

“Is that from personal experience?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Anu tells me. “During the first Jump on our way to Earth, I got to watch fat-brain here throw up after the Jump. He puked all over the place. Everything he ate for lunch was on the floor—”

“No, I did not,” Gennio says with a frown without looking up from his own consoles. “Enough, Anu.”

“Okay, but it would’ve been funny if you did!” And Anu makes a rude laugh.

“Seriously, Anu,” I mutter. “Are you a five-year-old? What’s with all the stupid?”

“Hey, you just watch your lunch, Earth girl, this is no joke!”

Gennio and I both roll our eyes tiredly.

H
owever when lunchtime rolls around, I have no appetite, so I eat and drink almost nothing, Anu’s warning ringing in my mind. Besides, there is hardly time to linger since the Pre-Jump Protocol is about to be implemented all across the ark-ships of the Fleet.

And as Aides to the CCO, we assist the CP in part with some of it.

Our schedule is as follows:

At 1:00 PM, Pre-Jump Protocol begins—which means that everyone is officially placed in “ready” mode. That’s when Atlantean crew members and Earth refugees are ordered to begin winding up their regular duties, to finish up whatever they are doing and report to their personal quarters by 2:00 PM.

At 1:30 PM, the ten individuals who are to occupy the cold storage capsules are to report to the Cold Storage Deck on Level 5. On our ship that includes the two older adults Instructor Mithrat Okoi, and Consul Suval Denu, plus eight at-risk Cadets and Civilians chosen by doctors.

At 2:05 PM, Command Pilot Kassiopei initiates the automated Jump Protocol. That’s when the Jump System takes over, and begins the thirty-minute warning Jump Countdown.

At 2:20 PM, fifteen minutes before the Jump, everyone has to be lying down in their beds, with harnesses engaged.

“Be sure to remove any constricting clothing, shoes, jewelry, sharp objects—anything that might potentially cause you accidental harm if you are incapacitated,” we are told by the medical techs. “Also, keep your water bottles readily available and within reach.”

At 2:34 PM, one minute before the Jump, we are to lie as still as possible, take deep breaths, and wait.

At 2:35 PM, the Jump happens. The Fleet will leave the galactic neighborhood of Earth and
jump
instantaneously to the galactic neighborhood of Atlantis, somewhere in the Constellation of Pegasus, the Great Square.

At 2:50 PM, depending on our physical condition post-Jump, we may get up and out of bed, and are allowed to resume our regular day.

“If you are still experiencing heavy symptoms of Jump sickness by 3:00 PM, be sure to report to the nearest medical deck,” we are told.

And so it begins.

T
he CCO Aides are scheduled to briefly assist in the cold storage chamber at 1:30 PM. Gennio, Anu, and I head down to Deck 5, through ship corridors filled with stressed out rushing people. When we get there, we see at least five doctors or med techs on duty, and the cold storage capsules are open.

Instructor Mithrat Okoi arrives punctually, the first person there. We watch him being prepped by the medics. He confidently climbs into the capsule and lies down. Gennio and Anu supervise the system functionality while the medical techs get to work attaching instruments and sensors to Mithrat Okoi’s body.

“Are you ready, sir?” an Atlantean tech asks politely.

“Proceed,” Mithrat Okoi says calmly and closes his eyes.

The capsule glass lid comes down and is closed over him, and then the controls engaged, flooding the chamber with a milk-pale ice mist.

Gennio steps up to verify that all is running smoothly.

The eight teens who are to be stored in the capsules are next. I watch with sympathy the three very young girls and the one much older girl—both at the extreme ends of the safe age range—and the two very young boys and two older boys. All of them have a frightened, haunted look, and I don’t blame them.

The teens are processed one at a time, and each time a capsule closes over one of them the others watch with growing terror.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” an Atlantean female doctor says gently to the youngest little girls and boys. “You’ll wake up very soon and you won’t feel a thing!”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Anu mutters to one older teen already lying down with a resigned look, as he checks his capsule’s controls for the last time. “You get to bypass Jump sickness, while we don’t. I’ll be happy to trade places with you, man.”

The reassurance seems to work, because the teen exhales in visible relief and closes his eyes.

Wow
, I think.
Anu actually said something useful
.

In minutes the last of the high-risk teens are now safely stored in their capsules, and it’s almost 2:00 PM when Consul Denu arrives, running very late, with his assistant Kem running behind him with a bag, and the aura of perfume wafting after.

“Here, my boy, begin by taking my robe and the accessories,” Consul Denu says, starting to disrobe ceremoniously. Even now, he is still wearing his golden wig.

The techs stand waiting patiently for the layers of Consul Denu’s outfit to be cast aside, while he stands, mostly letting Kem do the removal. Lastly, comes the grand gold wig, and I think all of us—Anu, Gennio, myself, all the doctors and techs—stare in mesmerized suspense to see what’s underneath.

Underneath the wig, Consul Denu is bald as an egg.

I think I’m as stunned as everyone, but we all hold in our reaction politely.

Amazingly enough, the Consul observes us comfortably in that moment, with the tiniest fleeting smile on his face. “So now you come to the mystery of mysteries, the heart and crux of things,” he tells us in a poetic tone mixing sarcasm and aplomb. “The humble servant of the Imperator is revealed, and he is a bird without feathers.” His glance travels around us, lingering on us Aides especially. And he winks at me.

“Come, don’t be shy,” he says at last to the medic techs. “Put me up in this extremely expensive machine, and let it perform its job.”

And Consul Denu climbs inside the remaining empty capsule, with the assistance of at least three people. As he lies there getting prepped, he waves his manicured hand elegantly in our direction, and at Kem in particular. “Now, run along, Kem, and hurry to your own cabin. You may hold on to my things until after the Event. For now, you must get in bed, stay there safely, and try not to move too much, for it can be a highly unpleasant experience—”

Consul Denu is still talking when the capsule lid comes down over him. Immediately the air of the chamber is freed of much of its perfume, though some of it remains on the clothing and things that Kem is holding.

“Yes, my Lord,” Kem mutters, at this point to no one in particular. But he still remains standing, as though at attention.

Anu and I take a peek at the console instruments next to Consul Denu, and we see the mist fill the capsule, and momentarily glimpse the Consul inside, resting like an alien mummified doll creature in courtly makeup.

“All right, we’re done here,” Gennio says, just as the thirty-minute warning Jump Countdown begins over the ship’s public announcement system.

“
Attention all personnel. . . . Thirty minutes warning. . . . Jump sequence initializing now. . . .”

“Okay, let’s get out of here, we’re running late,” Anu mutters.

I turn to Kem and touch him on the arm. “Hey! The Consul will be fine, go on to your cabin,” I say to him gently. “Hurry now! He wants you to be safe! Go!”

He looks at me with a very stressed, lost little boy look, then nods.