Page 1 of Nixx
Prolog
Since the beginning of the twenty-first century, the Earth has been ravaged by epidemics and large-scale natural disasters. Famine and pandemics have progressively caused the death of most of humanity. Successive confinements in an attempt to stem the multiple waves of disease have seen the end of culture and artists. Cultural references remained frozen at the end of the twentieth century.
The Intergalactic Confederation, which lists the worlds in the different galaxies, decides to include humans in its exploration program.
Our story begins at the end of the twenty-first century, aboard the Proud, a Confederation ship run by humans.
Sarah
The alarm sounds in the infirmary and the lights go out, giving way to this red emergency light, while Eva and I urgently interrupt our barely started coffee break. Eva is my best friend, a small Asian girl, delicate and full of energy. Since the time she has been with me in the medical spaces of our ship, the Proud, she has acquired some notions of care of all kinds, but basically, she is an analyst, a specialist of the ecosystems of the worlds we visit. She analyzes, lists, classifies . . . If each world has its characteristics, we find constants and similarities in each of them.
But when I take a break, Eva likes to join me in the ship's medical quarters. Because that's where I belong. That or the kitchen. My name is Sarah. I am the official doctor on board the Proud. And as I am also an incorrigible gourmet, I am often solicited by the crew to improve our daily life with recipes of my own.
The AI (Artificial Intelligence on board) rather provides basic and balanced meals but has no notion of pleasure. But we'll come back to that. Eva gives me a worried look, “What the hell is this?” while the intercom turns on.
“This is Clark, your captain. I'm asking the entire crew to return to the jump seats nearest your position and locate the nearby escape route. We are going to crash on one of the moons of planet E-547-24. I will attempt a water landing, which should be the least violent thing for our structure. I already know all the data that the AI sent to your tablets. Luckily, this moon has viable characteristics for us. The AI has no data yet on any form of intelligent life and has not identified any advanced infrastructure that would suggest otherwise. I'll turn off the intercom to concentrate on the maneuver and wish you all good luck.”
Eva meets my eyes and we quickly strap ourselves into the jump seats closest to the emergency escape hatch.
Eva is typing away on her tablet, commenting to me as she goes along: “I forced the tablets to be fed in real-time from the last data received by the AI. All the information it will analyze will be broadcasted until the last second. If we survive the crash, we will still have to survive on an unknown moon.”
I survey my workspace and I’m already listing the priorities. The most important one is to save at least one of the twelve regeneration units that are located in the small room adjacent to the infirmary. Each of these units is quite large, about the size of a sarcophagus. But given the potential of these little technological gems, capable of repairing severe damage to the patient's DNA, I'm going to try to retrieve the one closest to the exit.
My disordered thoughts are interrupted by the intensifying vibrations and I lean forward, resting my torso on my knees, tucking my head in as much as I can as the alarm cuts off and the AI begins a countdown on the intercom.
“Impact imminent, please maintain safe positions . . . Impact in 2 minutes . . . Impact in 60 seconds . . . Impact in 30 seconds . . . Impact in 10, 9, 8 . . . Impact.”
Come girl! It's going to be fine, clench your teeth, hold on tight, it's only a bad moment to pass.
Despite my self-encouragement, my heart races in my chest as I feel the first impact. The light is still red in the cabin and the deafening sound of torn metal; the structure has lost its integrity.
Then comes the second shock, even longer, as the cabin seems to stabilize at a slightly inclined angle. A glance through the window confirms that we have indeed crashed on a liquid surface. We have at most a few dozen minutes before everything sinks. The watertight panels between each section and the air inside should give us more respite.
The procedure is clear: assess the level of urgency before acting, take time to think about it, and make the right decisions. Because with each opening of an airlock, the structure, or what is left of it, will lose buoyancy.
