Syn stood up and walked to room 97. “It always surprises me when we come to a place that’s new.” She nodded at the orange mark. “These are everywhere.” Their first explorations throughout the ship were panic-infused creeps fearful of what might jump out at them. When it became clear that they would be crawling over the ship for years, Syn had found some paint to mark their progress. Those little dabs of paint now felt pervasive. Few doors remained unmarked.
“We’ve almost explored the entire Disc. We would’ve gotten to this spot sooner or later, whether that bot had said it or not.”
“Doesn’t it worry you?”
Blip looked sideways as the access panel slid open and revealed a digital interface array. “Step closer. It’s out of power.”
Syn took a couple of steps, glancing between her fingertips and then out across the railing to the sweep of the Disc. As she stepped within a meter of the access panel, it lit up with its common green interface.
“Thanks.” Blip sent over a quick command line, requesting the door to open. “And what do you mean?”
Syn stepped back from the access panel, and it went dark, eliciting a muffled grunt of irritation from Blip. “What will happen when we run out of places to explore? What happens when every wall has an orange mark?” She looked around, gripping the edge of the rail and staring out at the Disc.
“None of this will be new ever again. We’ll be locked in without any place to explore. Maybe we should just let this door stay shut. Maybe we should plan to leave one mystery and always keep it a mystery. At least then we’ll always know that there’s something we don’t know, something that we haven’t explored.” She spun on Blip. “I’m scared of the same old thing day after day after day. What happens then?”
Blip sighed. “Breathe.”
Syn took a deep breath and snarled, “That’s good. It doesn’t change the fact that your twin is the only thing new we’ve really encountered. I know what’s going to happen when we open that door.”
“He’s not my twin, and I don’t. That’s why I was trying to open it.”
“We’re going to discover the same boring room with the same white and grey acoustic panels on the wall with the leftover clothes and half-eaten meals, and maybe, somewhere, a screen will be left on to some children’s show, and Barney the purple dinosaur will be singing as we enter. That’s it! How do I know that? Because that’s the same thing we’ve encountered everywhere else. If it isn’t Barney, it’s some band or TV commentary or documentary about Earth. Oh, and don’t forget the dead bodies. They’ll be sprawled out somewhere in the most uncomfortable positions. But that’s it! Nothing new! Nothing amazing! TV, food, death, and gray walls. Olorun’s great legacy.” Her voice had reached a level of pitch he hadn’t heard for a while, and the last few words clipped out in a panicked state.
“You’re having an anxiety attack. It’s going to be okay.” He floated close, moving within an inch of her. Not close enough to touch but close enough to be able to if she wanted it.
“Blip? Don’t you get it? It’s over! That bot was the last great mystery, and once we solve that, it’s over! We will live the same day over and over and over. Like that movie… Ground… Grounder Day!”
“Groundhog Day?”
“Yes! Except we’re not trying to get anything right! We can do the day perfect, but we’re stuck.”
“It’s going to be fine.”
“How do you know that? How can you say that?”
Blip sighed and started, “I—”
“Don’t sigh. I’m not your problem.” She spun around and began to walk the other way.
“This was your idea! I said I could do this without you! Are you okay with me checking this out on my own? I can ask Olorun to open the door!” Blip shouted after her.
“Of course you can. You always can.” Syn turned on her heels and pointed. “But that’s not what’s going to happen. You don’t get to talk to the ship when you’re not happy with me.”
Blip floated back, “Not happy with you? What are you talking about?”
“I’m not freaking out. I just can’t get why you’re not!”
“Wait— did you hear yourself? I didn’t say…” Blip moved in close and began to count, his voice deep. “Twenty. Nineteen.” With each number, his voice hushed a bit more.
“You know what I mean. I’m not getting the words right,” she said, seemingly oblivious to what he was doing.
“Sixteen. Fifteen.”
Syn took a deep breath.
“Ten. Nine. Eight.”
“I’ll open your door. But some point is coming…” She nudged past him and walked to the door, the floor light sparking up as she passed and the access panel now glowing orange. “Some point is coming when we won’t get to open a door and experience anything new.”
“Four. Three. Two.”
She tapped her fingers on the panel, throwing in the same code Blip had started. She looked back over her shoulder, “And doesn’t that scare you? Like you’re some fish stuck in some can, and you’re never going to get out.”
In a whisper, he said, “One.” Blip gave a sound like a sigh himself after a pause. “Please stand here so I can open it?”
Syn sighed, shaking the brief panic free, and pulled the makeshift spear closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Syn nudged the floating robot, “Besides, I thought you could do anything.”
Blip’s eyes went narrow, “I have great big memory banks, but I can’t keep it all up inside me. There are a few things that I get on info drip from Olorun. She’s the one that has all the info.” Blip faked a cough.
She hated when he talked about the ship as if it were alive. It creeped her out. He didn’t do it often, but occasionally, he would throw out a line like that and make her anxious—to think they were crawling around inside a living thing. Maybe it was even the thought that if Olorun was alive, then what did she know of Syn? Had she been watching everything? Is she watching now?
She stepped forward. The panel lit up. “I’m here. Shut up and open the door.”
The lights on the door flashed green.
Syn smiled, “Nice.”
Blip made a metallic sound like a grunt.
Syn rolled her eyes, “Fine. You can say it.”
In a deep voice, Blip declared, “Open sesame!”
Syn sneered, “Welcome to Olorun. Now let’s see the last great mystery.”
The inner gears of the door ground to life, clunking over and over. The split in the door widened, and Syn bent back into a defensive stance, her arms pulled tight, gripping the makeshift spear tighter. Only darkness lay ahead. And then, a smell familiar and stomach-churning rolled out—undisturbed, unfiltered, stale air. Syn coughed and pulled out a stain-spotted yellow cloth, wrapping it around her mouth.
Eku crouched and growled—a deep, rumbling sound.
She coughed again, forcing herself not to gag, swallowing the bile back down. After a moment, Syn whispered, as if facing a tomb, “Light please.”
This room had apparently not been opened since the Madness had swept through the ship and everyone died. In the center of the room lay a body, face down, clothed in the deep purple wear of the science crew. A few thin strands of blonde hair lay against the skull. Something, perhaps a rodent, had torn away at what was left, leaving only the brilliant white of skull. Most of what was left was hardened flesh and bone. All muscle and meat had been ripped off and digested by something small enough to get into these nearly impenetrable suites.
“Her name was Agan’ja. She was thirty-five and worked as a botanist in the soil farms,” Blip said, cross-referencing some database from Olorun with what he picked up about the room.