Chapter Text
Percy wakes up, dazed and confused.
His hibernation pod is warm, letting out soft beeps. The comfort of deep, dreamless sleep leaves him uncomfortably fast. The effort it takes to open his eyes is too much, so he resigns to stay still, letting his ears do the searching.
“Good morning, Percy," someone says. Her voice is melodic and barely above a whisper. He tried to blink his eyes open. A life-size hologram of a woman is in front of him.
“Huh?” Percy responds, still disoriented. Is he supposed to do something? He doesn’t remember—
Percy panics, grabbing the sides of the capsule as it detaches from the larger resting pod. He doesn’t remember much of what happened before he went to sleep.
“You are alright,” the woman, dressed as an air hostess, says. “It's perfectly normal to feel confused. You have just spent 120 years in suspended animation.”
What? Animation? Suspension? Percy sucks in a desperate gulp of air, unable to piece things together. He feels his capsule rolling along the level floor, moving out from a cool, dark hall to a brighter open space.
“Just breathe,” the lady says, smiling calmly. “Everything is okay.”
“Where am I?” Percy gasps, blinking rapidly now.
“You’re a passenger on the Starship Argo, the Homestead Company's premier interstellar starliner. We have nearly completed the voyage from Earth to your new home, the colony world of Homestead III.”
“A new world. A fresh start,” Percy says, recalling near-forgotten words from pamphlets, billboards, and speeches from long ago.
“And room to grow,” the lady says, appreciatively and Percy calms down. He remembers now. He’s in a transport capsule that’s wheeling him to his quarters. He’s been asleep along with his fellow passengers for more than a century.
“The Argo is on final approach,” the lady continues, as Percy now looks out of his pod, at the neat and sterile surroundings of the starship. “For the next two months, you will enjoy space travel at its most luxurious. Food. Fun. Friends.”
She goes ahead and narrates her pre-recorded delivery while Percy opens and closes his fists, beginning his muscle usage. His capsule rolls onto a ramp, moving him up a few floors. Percy looks over the edge, able to catch sight of all the rooms and cabins spaced out, clean and aligned.
“The ID band on your wrist is your key to the wonders of the Argo,” the lady says. Percy looks down at the small black band around his wrist, remembering strict instructions to never take them off until the journey was done.
“You are in perfect health, Percy,” the hostess says with a gentle smile. “You may experience post-hibernation sickness for a few days. Suite 424 will be your quarters for the reminder of the journey. Your door will illuminate for you.”
On cue, the frame of one of the closer doors lights up in soothing blue. His capsule slows down in front of it and waits.
“Band,” Percy says to himself, his brain slowly catching up. He raises his hand and stretches it out, aiming his ID band over the small screen lock on the wall. It beeps green and the door slides open, lights turning on.
The hologram of the hostess disappears from the capsule and reappears on a glass wall inside the room. “Welcome to your room, your home until we make landfall. Over the next four months, you’ll prepare for your new life on Homestead III, meet your fellow passengers, and learn about colonial living. You've been assigned to learning group 12 for passengers with specific knowledge of the aquatic biology of our destination planet. Your duties onboard include prescribed volunteering for the selective revival of sea creature species saved in the Argo’s cryosphere chambers.”
“Right,” Percy mumbles. “Gonna surf with the dolphins.”
The hostess doesn’t react to his comment. “Please scan your ID to confirm luggage delivery. And to help you recover from hibernation, be sure to drink plenty of fluids. Enjoy the rest of your voyage on the Argo, a Homestead Company Starship.”
Percy sleeps for a day straight. There are several bottles of drinking water and electrolytes that he downs when he’s up and his bathroom has a freakin’ jacuzzi in it. The moment he’s feeling up to it, he plans to get accosted by all the jets.
His room isn’t a run-of-the-mill suite you’d expect on a spaceship carrying you to a planet nearly 60 lightyears away. Percy spends a few hours taking slow steps around his 2100 square feet stateroom. It is more than twice the size of his apartment back in New York City.
There are two levels to his room. The lower floor has an entire living room set with a comfy sofa and a coffee table. There is a dining room with a table placed with six chairs. The furniture is mahogany, shining under the lights. The small kitchen nook of his room has electrical heating. Fireless cooking was a class Percy remembers taking as part of his training course before the journey.
His luggage is kept on the upper level in his bedroom. He has a walk-in closet and the space in it is obscene just like the rest of the room.
Does everyone have personal areas like this?
Percy isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He finishes consuming some of the canned food from his kitchen stock and finally puts on a pair of good, clean clothes that he’s packed. Jeez, would everyone’s outfits be a century old? He wonders what’s happening on Earth right now.
No, don’t think about that. He doesn’t want to report to his learning group in tears. Instead, he calls out, “Switch to outer space.”
The computer in his room is voice-activated and it changes the soft blue sky image in the large window like switching channels. Percy looks out through the glass, his breath taken away by the far expanse of space.
Millions of stars and hundreds of galaxies are scattered about in the inky canvas. It gives him a small sense of loss, of being untethered, floating all by himself with no one to hear him.
Percy shakes his head. Ridiculous. There are 5,257 other people on this ship. Not to mention hundreds of animal species frozen and several plants stored away, carefully sealed in their cryogenic capsules. He’s by no means alone.
Grabbing one of the water bottles from the counter in the kitchen, he rechecks his ID band. He has no cellphone, no wallet… it’s an odd feeling.
The corridor outside his room is warm and brightly lit. The door closes behind him and Percy can tell something’s off.
He frowns, listening to the empty foyer. High-tech fancy Roombas sweep the floor, beeping sweetly. There’s absolutely nothing else moving. Nothing else living or breathing aside for him.
It’s like moving in a dream. Percy can hear the sound of his breathing, the mechanical beeps from the Roombas, and computer screens on the walls all along the long floor. Something feels wrong.
“Where’s everyone?” he whispers to himself. Is he late? Has the session already begun? No, he’s early, with some time to spare for breakfast.
Percy went down in the elevator, reading the maps along the walls, searching for the cafeteria. Living things moved toward food. If his biology degree has given him anything, it’s that nugget of knowledge.
The cafeteria is deserted. Percy gawks at the immense hall of pale tiles, walls, tables and seats. It’s lit in white lights, emphasizing the large grey columns of food bars. He shows the large screens his ID band to receive his food: waffles, bacon and eggs, and toast with mixed fruit jam.
His stomach grumbles but sitting at an empty table in the plainest room he’s ever been in, is starting to ruin his appetite.
“Eat something,” Percy tells himself, digging into the waffles. It’s excellent.
He can’t finish the whole thing. Percy pushes the tray away, feeling his heart rate rise. How can there be absolutely no one here?
He should go see his dad.
Percy gets up and heads out, making a long trek around the place until he hits the Grand Concourse. It’s a hi-tech sci-fi mall, with terrace levels filling the air above him, several yards high. He marvels at the place and changes tracks when he finds an information column on the open floor, right next to a beautiful fountain. He reaches out to touch the wall of cool water, smiling.
Percy swipes his ID band over the information column and says, “Hello.”
The column comes to life with several hexagonal icons blinking in the empty space of the hologram. The icons are detached from each other and Percy does not resist the urge to flit his hand through them, smiling when they scatter about.
“Hello, Percy Jackson,” a cool automated voice responds, catching his attention again. “How can I help you today?”
He rolls his shoulders and says, “Yeah, hi. Where’s everyone?”
“We are on the Starship Argo bound for our destination planet Homestead III,” the voice says infuriatingly.
“I know that, but where are the other people?” he asks impatiently. “There’s no one except for me on this floor.”
The holographic icons float over an invisible globe, moving in time to the computer’s response. “The crew and passengers remain in hibernation for most of the voyage. Passenger hibernation pods can be found on decks C, D, and E.”
He begins to freak out. “No, I mean, where are they now?”
“The crew and passengers are currently in their hibernation pods,” the voice answers. “They will be awakened when we’re three months out from our destination.”
Percy grabs onto the information column for support. He feels this dream rapidly careening into a nightmare.
“How can they be in hibernation now?” He demands. “We’re all supposed to be awake! We’re reaching the planet in two months!”
“All crew and passengers will remain in their hibernation pods until the year 2425,” the voice says.
Something’s wrong.
“It is the year 2425!” Percy all but yells at it, slamming a hand against the side of the column.
Everything’s wrong.
“Please refrain from damaging the information system,” the voice says.
“Damn it, damn it!” Percy swears, stumbling back. He needs to find someone, not a computer. He has to get to his dad. He needs to—
He stops. Through the wall of fountain water, there is a silhouette posed on the other side. It’s a person.
Percy rounds the fountain, heart thudding loud enough to drown everything out, till they come into sight.
She’s beautiful, he thinks.
She’s standing there, staring at him like she’s never seen another person before. Like she’s drinking in the sight of him, completely entranced. Percy almost feels the same way, relief flooding his body. He’s not alone.
“Hey,” he says, voice shaking. “I’m Percy.”
She stares back. Her eyes are grey, reflecting the flowing water beside her.
“Annabeth,” is all she says.
Percy stares at the tools thrown about on the floor outside the chief crew hibernation quarters. The door is circular, boring marks and signs of damage, but there is no hammer, no axe strong enough to break through the metal alloy.
Annabeth stands just behind him, speaking quietly. “Nothing works on the door. It’s fireproof and resistant to electricity. Can’t hack from outside, can’t break the door or the walls. The chief crew is sealed in these chambers.”
He knows that the crew is in there. Percy steps toward the door, peering in through the sleek glass to get a proper look. He can see a dozen pods in there. His father is asleep in one of them.
His tongue is numb and he holds onto the door, listening to her recount.
“I’ve tried for months to get in,” Annabeth says, her voice cracking. “But nothing’s worked against the firewall protection.”
Months. She’s tried for months.
Percy found out just an hour ago and he can’t handle it. They woke up too soon.
“What… what year is it?” he stammers.
“2336,” Annabeth says, unblinking. Her gaze is trained on the infallible door. There’s something stiff and ghostlike in her visage that Percy hadn’t noticed before.
“2336,” he repeats.
“We’re supposed to wake up in 2425,” she says. This he knows. November 30, 2425, is the exact day their ship will dock on Homestead III. And yet, they’re awake, standing outside the crew quarters and command ring in the year 2336 CE.
Percy shakes his head. “We can’t be here… we shouldn’t be awake! We… how… how long have you been up?”
He dreads the answer because the light in Annabeth’s eyes is dim as she says, “One year and three weeks.”
A year. More than a year. She’s been here for so long; lonely and terrified, desperate and barely surviving.
Percy can hardly stand another second. His pulse rises and he begins to hyperventilate. “We need to get back!”
Annabeth’s eyes glisten. “Percy—”
“We need to go back to sleep!” he yells, stumbling over the heavy machinery strewn on the floor. The room is spinning. He grabs the wall, pushing himself to the end of the corridor.
“Percy, wait!” Annabeth cries, darting after him. But Percy has his mind set on the answer.
“I need my— We need to find our pods and go back into hibernation!”
They run all the way back to the passenger hibernation decks. Which one was his? Deck C? Yeah, deck C!
“I woke up here!” Percy says, panting and staring at all the hibernation modules placed in the largest floor space area of the ship. There are rows upon rows of hibernation pods and sleeping passengers, as far as the eye can see. Percy looks at the peaceful faces, his breath coming out in puffs. His lungs are working overtime and his limbs are burning from the sudden exercise.
“Where’s my pod?” he gasps, clutching at the undisturbed ones. “I can’t find it! Where is it?”
“Percy!” Annabeth chokes, finally reaching him. “Do you know how to activate the hibernation process?!”
“Process! Yeah! No! Wait, we have to try! We have to! I don’t remember! I don’t remember my number! What’s my pod number?” Percy is screaming and crying, spinning in place to see thousands of people unaware that he’s awake and dying.
She grabs onto his arms to stop him from collapsing completely. Percy flinches from the contact. Her fingers burn through his shirt as though her touch is his undoing. He freezes for a moment, panting and staring at her.
Annabeth rips her hands away, taking a step back, equally daunted. “I’ve tried! I’ve tried so many times, but we need specialized equipment to induce comatose conditions again. You remember the process we went through when they put us under, thirty years ago?”
Percy swallows, feeling his legs go weak. He crumbles, placing his hands on the floor to brace his shaking body.
“Three different system-shutdown operations,” she says, her voice wrecked. “Metabolism, brain activity, and lymphatic network.”
He nods, understanding the magnitude of their shitstorm. “We have specialized drugs to wake us up, but putting us under… no, only the command crew has that equipment.”
Annabeth falls to her knees. She sits on the cold floor opposite him, looking so broken and despondent. Percy empathizes, feeling tears run down his cheeks.
She covers her face, curling into her knees and sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
He bows his head and cries with her.
They stay like that for an immeasurable amount of time until his knees and arms ache. It’s a heartstopping silence. The gentle hum of the generators that power the hibernation modules makes Percy feel sick to his stomach. They stand up when it’s too much for him.
“Do you…” Annabeth licks her chapped lips. “Do you want me to walk you back to your cabin?”
Percy watches her, feeling dull-witted.
“No… no, it’s fine, I know my way back. But should I walk you to yours?’
Annabeth stares, eyes growing wide. Her eyes are really grey. He hadn’t known it was a natural color.
“I’m gonna go for a walk, actually,” she mutters. “It helps me.”
He agrees hastily. “Yeah. That’s nice. Um… I’ll probably need to rest now. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She looks up, again startled. And then nods.
Percy heads for the elevator, watching her trudge away, head bent low. Annabeth walks slowly through the rows of people. She runs her hands over the pod windows, leaving her fingerprints all over the previously clean glass. She’s a ghost passing by headstones in a haunting cemetery, trying to leave a mark.
The disturbing irony in that sentence sends Percy reeling. He collapses on a seat in the elevator, stumbling all the way back to his room like he can’t breathe fast enough.
There’s no sleep, no good thoughts. Percy stays in bed, wishing for the dreamless state of hibernation. It’s a long night.
Sometime later, his alarm beeps. The lights in the room switch on and Percy curls back under the comforter. The worries and the anguish rush back into his chest, weighing him down, drowning him again.
He’s alone and he’s as good as dead.
No, that’s not true. Annabeth’s there. She’s been here longer than he was. They’re alone and as good as dead.
One year and three weeks.
Percy peeks his head out from the covers and mumbles, “When did I wake up?”
The window to his side changes from a serene coastal view to a calendar in light mode. He winces against the glare and listens to the computer responding, “Percy, you were brought out of hibernation on March 27, 2336. 2:13 pm, GRC.”
One year and three weeks.
Annabeth would have woken up in 2335, at the start of March. How has she not gone crazy?
Pod failure. They said it was impossible.
Well… there are now two impossibilities eating breakfast.
The cafeteria is pristine and quiet. Percy ambles in, finding Annabeth at a table, munching dully on a slice of pancake. She has a holo-tablet set up beside her tray and is talking to it.
“Good morning,” Percy says, his voice just above a whisper. Her shoulders shake as she whips her head around, blond hair flying.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
She gulps her bite down. “I… it’s okay. I mean… I sort of… thought yesterday was a dream.”
He has a feeling she wanted to say nightmare but amended the last part just for him. He goes over to the breakfast bar and orders oatmeal. His appetite isn’t back.
Annabeth closes her holo-tablet and moves her tray to make way for his. “Do you wanna sit with me?”
She’s glancing up at him, hopeful and afraid like he might just run away from her. Percy holds up his tray and looks around. “Might as well, everywhere else is full.”
Her eyes grow warm, grey turning to silver as she gives a short burst of a laugh. It is a good sound.
They sit across from each other, hexagonal grey trays slotted perfectly.
“That’s all?” she asks, frowning at his single bowl.
“I’m honestly not hungry,” Percy says. “And I wasted half of yesterday’s meal… I’ll have a heavy lunch.”
She nods, turning back to her food.
They eat quietly for a bit until he, who now hates the silence, speaks up, “I’m Percy Jackson.”
She looks up, swallowing her food down fast. “Annabeth Chase. You’re from New York City?”
“Yeah! How’d you know?”
“Accent,” she smiles. Percy’s face stretches oddly to make room for his smile.
“You’re from…” He wonders, twirling his spoon in the bowl. “California?”
She grins now. “I guessed a city and you’re picking an entire state?”
“Los Angeles,” he amends.
“Nope, good ol’ Cisco.”
Percy grunts. “That was gonna be my next guess.”
“Sure.”
They chuckle and the quiet becomes more bearable. It’s nice, chatting with someone.
Percy thinks about the chief crew quarters. Somewhere in that room, his dad is safe and secure in hibernation. A state that now has a 2 in 5258 chance of failure.
“I think,” he begins, letting Annabeth set her fork down. “We need to put our heads together and come up with some ideas. Something to fix our pods, or at least get access into the chief crew quarters. Or even the command bridge.”
Annabeth’s shoulders slump. She picks up her mug of coffee and holds it in both hands, trying to shield her face from him.
“I’m an architect,” she says. “My area is skyscrapers and interior ingenuity. But there’s a library in the Grand Concourse. I’ve been taking the books there, trying to get online courses on programming and hibernation manuals.”
Percy sits up, excited. “Then you’d know more about the process than me! What does it say about our pods?”
“State-of-the-art facility. It requires a med team to power up the capsule and keep all the drugs ready at temperature-controlled settings. Even if we were surgeons, we’d need a four month training to handle the induction process.”
She says most of this in a monotone. Percy tries to not be disheartened as he says, “The chief crew also have knowledge on how to put people under. They aren’t doctors.”
“No, but they still have the training. And the equipment.”
“There have to be backup generators for this, extra modules in case of emergencies like us!”
Annabeth sets her mug down. “There are replacement parts for absolutely everything in this ship. But they’re all down in the engineering bay and only the chief crew and relief crew can access them.”
Percy’s frustrated. “What about the infirmaries?”
“Checked ‘em. Nothing but scanners and an autodoc, which again, can be operated by crew and medical professionals only.”
He drops his spoon. “Fine, what kind of firewall is it? The one around the command ring?”
“Impenetrable. Unhackable. Infallible.”
“That’s Homestead’s motto for their security,” Percy fumes. “Annabeth, you’re not even trying!”
“I have been trying!” she snaps. “I’ve been trying for so long! Nothing works! I can’t get through anything! The cargo hold has trade goods and farming machines. This ship is transporting mostly frozen eggs, flora and fauna species and the equipment to support them. There aren’t any spare mechanical parts we can use to build a hibernation pod, there isn’t any straightforward way to hack through the firewall which is tougher than a private military force!”
She squeezes her eyes shut, elbows on the table so her fingers can massage her head.
“I’ve tried,” Annabeth whispers and his heart cracks. “I’ve done my best and I failed.”
He hesitates. “Annabe—”
“If you can think of something, I’ll help,” she says, rubbing her eyes quickly. “But I’m all out of plans.”
Percy stares at her. Her eyes are sunken, the skin under them red. She has wrinkles from the stress and he swears some of her yellow strands are in fact white. Her skin is pale and dreary. Even the UVB lights offered by the ship cannot replace the wholesome goodness of sunlight.
He imagines how she might have been on Earth. The sun would have made her face glow, and her hair golden. The fresh breeze and the rain would have made her smile. The flowers and their scent would make her blush.
And maybe he could have made her laugh.
“I… I’m sorry,” Percy whispers. “I didn’t mean that you didn’t try. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She shakes her head, pushing a piece of bacon around on her plate. “No, no, I shouldn’t have snapped… it’s not a normal situation.”
“It’s not,” Percy agrees. “If you don’t mind, we can go over everything you did and cross that off the list? Then, if I can come up with something, we can try that.”
She relaxes into her chair. “Yeah, that’s... We can do that.”
Percy has no words. Annabeth’s tried everything.
She’s read up on hundreds of hours of computer coding in three different languages, but couldn’t even get into the security’s code, let alone manipulate the lines.
She’s stolen the latest tech from restaurants to hook up to the control panel outside the command bridge and replicate a fire alarm, but that just set off a gas to curb the fictional flames.
She’s rigged up the infirmary’s door to indicate a deadly gas spreading through the ship, but the vents flushed the entire chamber out and brought new, fresh air flooding in.
She’s used the Roombas; broken some of them to get sharp, finer tools to jam them into the sides of the Command ring door to no avail.
She’s taken a sledgehammer to the same door, as well as a blowtorch, and a cattle prod connected to the main power cable. Not even sending 200,000 volts of electricity into the door could disable it. Her actions just caused a system reboot to avoid meltdown or blackouts.
And (this one just stuns Percy) Annabeth sent an interstellar message to Earth registering her problem and asking for a solution. Earth would get her mail in 19 years and she would get a reply in 55 years at the earliest.
Annabeth shrugs. “Well, 54 years now. I sent it more than a year ago.”
Percy gawks. “How much did it cost?”
“6000 dollars and half my soul.”
He places her holo-tablet aside and drops his head on the table. Running through her list of failed attempts, he’s starting to think it’s impossible.
Annabeth rests her arms on the table and leans her temple on them, far more graceful than him. “I couldn’t work any way around the pods. And I didn’t want to mess with mine. If it got seriously damaged, there would be zero chance of me getting back under. But I figured if I fake some kind of emergency, at least the command bridge might open up like it would in a real emergency.”
“This is a real emergency,” Percy’s voice is muffled by the table.
“Yeah, no shit,” she laughs. “The company said hibernation failure is totally impossible. And yet, it happened. I can’t even find out if it’s human error or if something’s actually wrong with the ship.”
Percy sucks in a breath. “With the ship?”
She gives him a measured look. “We’re the first civilian vessel bound for Homestead III. The fifth in the series. You remember Homestead II?”
It is less of remembering the first colony planet, and more of recalling what Percy studied in school. It had one military vessel and four civilian ships after. The fourth one, Starship Delphi, is on the last leg of its journey, bound to reach in less than 10 years.
“Yeah, of course. Zero accidents, zero casualties,” he mumbles.
“Do you think if something did happen to some of the passengers, the company would publicize it?”
Percy grits his teeth. Raising his head, he meets her gaze.
“You’re saying this has happened before?”
She drops her hands, grimacing. “I’m saying, we have no way of knowing if it’s happened before. Maybe Homestead starships don’t have a 100% safety record.”
“Or maybe the two of us have fuck-all luck,” Percy mutters. He rubs the tiredness from his face.
“I’m just thinking out loud,” Annabeth responds. “What if this has happened before? Then the company could have at least equipped the ship to deal with emergencies like us.”
He sits up straight. “So… there still could be a way for a stranded passenger to get things fixed? If the ship is prepared for it?”
“I used to think it was,” Annabeth admits. “I don’t believe that anymore. But can you think of anything?”
Percy runs a hand through his unwashed hair. “Honestly, there’s one thing I haven’t told you… but I’m not sure how much it can help.”
“What is it?”
He slowly unclenches his fists, not even having realized he’d closed them in the first place. “My dad… he’s the Captain of Starship Argo.”
Annabeth’s expression is unreadable.
“Oh,” she finally says.
“But like you said,” he continues. “There’s no way to get into the crew’s hibernation quarters and wake him up.”
“Wake him up?” she says, inhaling sharply.
“He knows how to put us under!” Percy hurriedly explains. He doesn’t want her to assume he’s willing to wake people up to this nightmare without a way out.
“He’s… in charge,” she nods. “You’re right, he would know.”
Percy squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. What are the odds that the Captain’s son would be woken up so early into the journey? But then, there was a reason why Percy has always used his mother’s name. To avoid phenomenal nepotism and grudges against someone in his father’s position.
Apparently, the universe has a sense of humor.
Percy cannot sleep. The nights look the same as the days. The Starship Argo was launched from Argos, Greece, so the ship follows the GRC time zone. But what does matter in the grand scheme. Homestead III has different time zones, running on its own clocks. The jet lag that the passengers were warned about would be immense.
Not that Percy will ever experience it.
He throws off the covers and gets to his feet. There’s a terrible headache knocking about in his head.
Midnight in the ship is as bright as noon. The sky outside is pitch black with scattered stars and galaxies, but it only serves to raise his anxiety. Percy heads straight to the chief crew quarters, with barely a plan in mind.
All of Annabeth’s failed attempts lay about in ruins in front of the circular door. Some of the walls are burnt, with panels broken or shorted out.
Percy kicks a spanner out of the way and picks up the sledgehammer. He holds it tight and yells out a scream, bringing it down on the door.
Another failure. The door holds, cruel as ever, and the glass porthole is unbreakable. There’s barely a few scratches. Percy slams the hammer at the frame, again and again and again, until his body is burning with the effort.
It’s a dismal walk back. How did Annabeth survive? He can’t understand how she hasn’t broken.
Percy crosses the Grand Concourse, looking up at the horde of mall outlets and stores. All his for the taking.
There’s a pool on the ground floor.
He strips down to his underwear and dives in. The water is perfectly balanced, treated and chlorinated. It’s a nice warm temperature and there’s a convex glass window at the end of the pool. He swims to the window to look at the same view: stars in space.
It’s deceptively enjoyable. Percy ends up floating on his back, as still as possible, pretending to be a dead body with no feelings, no fears and hopes and dreams.
He could end it. Just turn around, submerge himself and drown. Instinct would win, but maybe he could tie a hand down to the floor…
And leave Annabeth alone again.
Shut up, he shakes his head. He can’t do that to her. He promised to come up with ideas and try a few things. He owes her that much.
Percy gets out, dripping water everywhere as he hastily dries off and heads right back to his room. He can’t sleep, can’t rest.
He sits on the bed with damp skin and reaches for his holo-tablet. It was assigned to him at the time of packing, stored with all the info he’d carefully selected. Percy switches it on and quickly goes for the videos saved.
A hologram of his mother appears above the smooth cylinder. Percy stares at her beautiful face, feeling at intense longing.
“Hi sweetheart!” she gushes when he presses ‘play.’ “You’d have woken a couple of days ago, right? Take care of your bone and muscle density, don’t let artificial gravity fool you. Homestead III is bigger than Earth, so you’re gonna have to get used to the new weight.”
She shakes her head. “Wait, that shouldn’t be what you hear first, let me start again. Hi there, sweetheart! How are you feeling? I hope everything’s going great. No issues with the sleep, right? Are you drinking fluids? If you’re feeling woozy, go to the infirmary, pull the Captain’s son card, I don’t care. Just get checked out.”
Percy is crying. His hand is shaking and the hologram flickers a bit. Sally’s face grows soft. “I’m so proud of you, dear. It’s a scary journey but you’re still trying it. Life is about trying some of the scary things and realizing that it’s the best decision you may have ever made. Do I sound like a Hallmark card?”
He hates this.
“I love you so much, Percy,” her voice breaks a little. “ You’re going to have a long and beautiful life far away. And it’s a little sad, that’s okay. It’s going to be an amazing adventure.”
The video ends there, giving him options to about thirty of her pre-recordings. There are many from Paul, Estelle, and some of his friends as well.
Percy rubs his face and sets the tab down. He decides to watch one video at a time or he’d dissolve into a puddle of tears.
That morning, they go down to the aquatic animal station. Percy has access to the area and it’s a new place for Annabeth.
“I’m an aquatic biologist,” he tells her. “This ship is transporting nearly 400 species of freshwater and saltwater fishes and ocean mammals. They’re all in hibernation.”
The station is more of a laboratory. There are several rows of hibernation modules placed against the walls. Annabeth peers at the pods, which are smaller than the ones for humans.
“Can we use the tech?” she asks, flipping through her manual. She reads through the chapter on animal hibernation, while Percy checks the data logs to assess the animals’ health. Everything is perfect and stable.
“It would be really tricky,” he admits. “The process for animals, especially the invertebrates and non-mammals is simpler than for us. We've mostly frozen just the smaller adult fishes. All the other species are stored as embryos to retain storage space.”
“You can bring the fishes safely out of hibernation though?”
“Yeah,” Percy looks at a betta red. “They have different drugs and less complex systems. The tech in these pods just don’t have enough engineering to sustain even one of our pods. We need to check our pods and capsules to find what went wrong, find the replacement components from the engineering bay and then fix our pods.”
Annabeth dropped into an open chair, nodding quietly. She closes the book and looks at the colorful fish on display.
“Shouldn’t you have been part of the crew?” she asks slowly. “If you’re working on the ship?”
Percy finds another chair and rolls it to her, sitting such that it’s backrest faces his chest. He rested his arms on the head.
“I’m a volunteer. While filling out the forms, they asked if I would be willing to help with animal transport. I have the right degrees and experience, so I figured it would be cool. Not to mention, some of the officials knew who my dad is, so I got bumped up to Platinum class.”
He scratches at the headrest of the chair. “You should see my suite. It’s ridonculous.”
Annabeth snorts. “I broke into a Vienna suite.”
“Seriously?” Percy laughs. “Isn’t that like… for the chief crew?”
She bops her head, listening to silent music. “I figured since I’m not going to see Homestead III anyway, why not make full use of the ship?”
The mood sours almost immediately. She winces. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
“No, don’t apologize,” Percy ducks his head. Even the fantastic sight of the frozen fishes, the cryogenic chambers of sea mammal embryos, and the pure science of the lab isn’t enough to dull the hopelessness.
“I feel empty,” Percy admits. “This is too nascent to me and I’m already done. I’m trying to think, but it just keeps hitting me that we’re stuck… I can’t even sleep… man, is there anything fun to do around here?”
A new smile fills up Annabeth’s face. It’s hesitant, hopeful, and very different from her hey-that’s-funny smile. He enjoys it.