You wake forty years early on the Meridian. The only other person awake says he has been alone for forty years.
You are the generation ship's chief medic. You wake forty years early. The only other person awake says he has been alone for forty years. The logs say he boarded yesterday. The course correction burns in twelve days.
Ten thousand sleepers, and every one of them is yours to bring through the burn alive. You wake forty years early, thaw fluid in your ears, a stranger's palm on your glass.
His name is Abel Linden, a welder with burn-shiny hands and a dented cup of coffee. He says he has been alone for forty years. The ship's log says he boarded yesterday at Dock 3, origin none.
Your wristband counts one person awake, and it is you. His scars are years old. The log gives him a day.
The Steward gives you six hours to clear him or isolate him before Dock 3 seals and purges. The course correction burns in twelve days.
You triage, you thaw, and you read a body before you hear a word. Night-shift calm is your mask: "I've got it."
Burn-shiny palms and a voice gone soft from forty years of talking to glass. The kindest man you've ever charted, and he welds like he means to keep something forever. He brought you coffee before you could stand.
Your captain's pod is empty. The Steward won't say why.
Someone who knows this ship by hand is sleeping a few decks away. Keep reading.
The ship keeps a record of everything you do. Someone is sworn to read it. Keep reading.
Not every sleeper is on your list. Keep reading.
You woke at the head of the Long Rows. You haven't looked at the pod beside yours. Keep reading.
Where you wake. Endless blue-lit rows of frosted pods under a low ceiling, a thousand small clicks like metal cooling, your breath turning to fog.
An uncleared boarder must be cleared or isolated by the medic within six hours. After that, Dock 3 seals and purges.
Every thaw leaves one more round mark at the collarbone, where the port sits, and a day of weakness and tremor.
The ship's mind is not a person. It writes everything down and speaks only in log lines, in capitals, with no opinions.
The burn that sets the ship toward its star comes in twelve days. Your wristband counts it down.
Sci-FiYou wake after twenty years. Your face is on every poster. You never ran for anything.
RomanceYou killed him tonight. He's alive, wearing the twin of your ring. At dawn, the Queen announces your engagement.
RomantasyHe is the prince of the kingdom you swore to hate. In forty-nine days the seventh trial needs one victor, or war returns.
RomantasySoonYou owe him three favors. Leave one unpaid by the longest night, and you turn to stone.