The New World

The freighter was down. The electromagnetic storm had caused system-wide malfunctions in telemetry and stabilization equipment rendering the ship blind and unmaneuverable for a soft landing, so the craft crashed into a rocky declivity on the dark side of the planet. A systems check discovered that the autopilot had been damaged, which meant that manual take-off would be required. According to company regulations, only a certified space freighter pilot was permitted to bypass autopilot, and the of the two certified pilots, the captain was in a coma and the first officer was suffering from an space-induced anxiety attack, and she was currently under the care of the art therapist and therefore unavailable to perform any command decision-making. The navigator—a matter-of-fact and often terse personality—was in charge.

"Anybody object?" he asked. No one did.

A situational assessment ordered by the navigator reported that while food, water, and medical provisions were adequate for a month or longer, the on-board breathable air environment could only be maintained for three days on account of the failure of the oxygenator for which there were no spare parts. After three days, everyone would die.

Telemetry readings were back online and indicated that the ship was approximately 28,000 kilometres from the human settlement where terraforming was in progress to create a livable world underground for this planet whose atmosphere was toxic. Since freighters don't carry shuttles or other transportation vehicles that can cover 28,000 kilometers in three days, and since the communications officer had been unable to hail anyone from the human settlement that was not only underground but also halfway around the planet, the prospects for survival looked grim, and the navigator didn't pretend otherwise.

Under the new Safe Space Commerce law, all long-distance spacecraft were now staffed with an art therapist whose sole function was to manage the mental health of the crew on lengthy voyages without medication as much as possible. These medical practitioners of the arts were trained in the visual, auditory and kinesthetic arts as well as psychotherapy techniques such as Cognitive Behaviour Therapy and Dialectical Behaviour Therapy for the treatment of space-related anxiety disorders and chronic depression. The first officer's prognosis was not hopeful. Cases like hers could require weeks to restore the patient to some semblance of normality.

That left it to the navigator to get the freighter into the air and as close to the terraforming base as possible. The rest of the crew—a crusty and unruly lot when planet side—were, when faced with the harsh laws of space travel, willing to trust. And so the engineers and technicians went to work to ensure that the vessel would be space-worthy at the navigator's direction.

The repairs took two-and-a-half days, the freighter's two senior officers remained disabled, and the oxygenated atmosphere on board was T-minus four hours away from critical depletion ... and asphyxiation. The first engineer signaled "Clear for take-off," and the freighter's engines revved and groaned as the ship tried to pull free. Calculations for gravity had underestimated the thrust required for lift-off, and the ship struggled and failed to leave the surface. "There's no more power to get us up," said the voice of first engineer approaching the bridge.

"Are you getting anything from com?" asked the navigator who had turned to the communications officer. "Nothing."

"It's a long shot, but can we get a thermal scan of the surface to see if there's any sign of changing heat differentials?"

"Checking that right now," answered the com officer.

(Pause)

"I'm getting something—a large energy source moving east-southeast approximately 50 kilometers due south."

"Engineer, you've got the helm. I'm going out in the lander to find what's out there. I have a hunch it might be tunneling equipment, and I hope to the deity of the day that I'm right."