Hull Zero Three

“What message would you carry back to your mother to tell her we need reassurance, proof, communication before we risk our lives again? Nobody knows what lies aft. We haven’t been there.”

“I’ve been there, and so has my sister,” the girl says. “In fact, many of my sisters.”

“No threats?” Nell asks. “No out-of-control hull factors or… Killers?”

“No,” the girl says. “This hull is as safe as we’ve been able to make it.”

“You take credit for saving this hull…” Tsinoy offers.

The girl says, predictably enough, that Mother should receive the credit.

“You’re just one of Mother’s little fingers,” Nell says.

The girl nods again, still puzzled by our reluctance—and clearly unconvinced that we’re so stubborn we won’t eventually give in and comply with her request. Her command, I realize. Mother believes we owe her—and so do her little girls.

The panels choose this moment to open again, to Tsinoy’s intense interest. I can’t tell whether she’s delighted or not, but her pink eyes move forward, and then she pulls herself to the transparent ports and—for the moment—is lost in contemplation of the universe.

“Mother has fixed your view. The hull can still make repairs,” the girl says. “We are responsible for its functions.”

“Is Mother in the Catalog?” Nell asks. “Because nobody here seems to remember anyone remotely like her….”

The girl puts on an offended moue. “You have not seen her.”

“Can Mother open all of Ship’s memory and records to us?” Nell asks, on a roll.

“Not all,” the girl says. “Much has been lost or damaged. As you know.”

“You don’t know whether Mother will do this for us, do you?” Nell asks.

The girl shakes her head. In her way, she is doing her best to be honest, to be one of the team. But she’s still just a finger. A severed finger.

“You can’t communicate with Mother psychically, can you?” Kim asks.

The others look puzzled, but I know where he’s going.

“I do not know what psychically means,” the girl says.

“Can you talk to her with your thoughts?”

“No,” the girl says. “That is silly.”

“Honestly, I’m intrigued,” Kim says, rising and stretching. “I’d like to meet Mother and ask my questions directly. Anyone else?”

The girl has not considered the possibility we would split our team. “Mother wishes all—”

“Well, that isn’t going to happen,” Tsinoy says, turning away from the stars, the wisps of nebula—a shower of brilliant sparks from deflected dust. “I need to stay here. Nell needs to control the hull, in case we lose the shields again. Tomchin can join Nell in the control space. Maybe one Teacher can help Tomchin search the Catalog all over again. The rest of you—it’s up to you. Individually.”

Tsinoy’s assertion is met with silence. The girl’s features settle into a cold solidity. She does not look at any of us. This must be fury, I think.

“I’ll go,” my twin says. “Or…”

“No, you stay,” Nell says. “He’ll go.” She points at me. I have no idea what she’s up to, but the resonance between us is promising.

“I’m intrigued as well,” I say. Then, to my twin, “Besides, you’re older and wiser, more valuable to these fine people.”

He frowns, then gives in, as if avoiding any contest of manly courage. Or he does not want to make a fight of it. Overplay his hand. I have no idea why these suspicions are growing stronger. “All right,” he says.

We shake hands, then hug. It’s an awkward moment, self-respect dangerously close to self-love. But however much we may look, think, and act alike, we are clearly no longer the same. Affection is not any sort of metaphysical issue. He wants to go; I don’t. Not really. But I’ll go, and he won’t.

“How far aft?” Kim asks.

“To the hub,” the girl says.

Tsinoy is conferring with Nell. They both have their hands on the hemisphere.

“I’m not sure we have any idea what’s really happening,” Nell says. “There’s so much contradictory information.”

The girl looks unhappy.

“Destination Guidance might not have cut the shields after all,” Nell says. “When we started to combine the hulls, the drives shut down. They’re still off. We seem to be executing a turning maneuver. We’re shifting into a long-curve orbit.”

“What’s that mean?” I ask.

“Ship may be approaching the gravity well of a greater stellar grouping,” Tsinoy says. “We can’t see it. It’s behind an arm of the nebula. During such a maneuver, the shields temporarily switch off to reconfigure for the new angle of interstellar wind. They turn on again when the proper angle is reached.”

Nell adds, “The hulls need to be separated again to restart the drives. But given our present circumstances, if the drives resume, we’ll begin not just a course correction but also deceleration.”

“We’ll slow down?” Kim asks.

Nell says, “Ship might be responding to prior programming, not to our threats.”

“A destination has been chosen?” I ask. “Why didn’t Ship Control tell us?”

“Maybe it doesn’t want us to know. Maybe we’re being manipulated. I don’t know the answers.”

I’m still tingling with the shock of this potential revelation. A turning maneuver, rearranging the shields— that’s actually a viable alternate theory. “They weren’t trying to kill us—and we didn’t force them to back down?”

“No,” Tsinoy says.

“Then what the hell good are we, sitting up here, thinking we’re in charge?” I ask.

“Clearly,” Nell says, “we’ve got more research to do.” She looks at me and crooks a long finger. “Will you join me in Ship for a moment? Before you go, I need Kim to see something as well.”

“What about me?” my twin asks.

“One at a time,” Nell says.

I approach the hemisphere and lay my hands beside Nell’s. She gives me a long, puzzled look. “Someone in here knows you,” she says softly. “Both of you.”

We go in.

A few minutes later, we emerge. Kim goes next. My twin watches with apparent calm. Does he suspect? Then, Nell invites him into Ship. What she tells him or shows him there, I don’t know.

NEW WORLDS AFT

The journey is not dangerous, the girl says, but it is devious and may take a while. To that end, we pack a lunch and some extra clothes and water. Ship is adapting. There is hope that we can change things—if we are kept informed.

And that is our mission. To find the girl’s mother and learn as much as we can. There are no farewells. We simply take our supplies in gray bags and move aft from the tent-shaped chamber. Kim and I are not complacent —we do not believe there is safety anywhere, but I also do not believe the girl is leading us into a trap. We may have the same approach to differing agendas, but for now, agreement should be possible.

We climb into the hull’s cap chamber, which is immense beyond our previous experience. In Hull Zero One, behind the cap chamber, a single water tank had filled the center of the hull, but here, Kim and I are surprised to find six tanks, each as large or larger. Their huge “eyes” are filled with the hypnotic beauty of trillions of gallons of water, interrupted by narrow turquoise voids, smaller bubbles rejoining great ones. Placid. Dormant.

“Why six?” Kim asks. I have no answer—the girl has no answer. Our curiosity is not her concern. She guides