The intercom on my wrist buzzed; indicating a private message. I altered the speed of the treadmill I was on until it came to a gradual stop. My eyes automatically scanned the inhabitants of the gym, landing on the only other member of the crew working out. I’d spotted her as soon as I’d entered and found, to my bemusement, that my eyes had watched her progress more than once. Music blared out of the gel walls; I didn’t think my voice would carry over it.

“Jameson,” I said, opening the comm.

“You have a communique from the Sector One Fleet, Captain,” Pavo said through the wrist-comm speakers. “It is marked urgent.”

“I’ll take it in my ready room.”

I stepped down off the treadmill and picked up a towel, wiping my face while I watched the female crew member finish her set. She sat up and let out a long breath, her face glistening with perspiration. I didn’t recognise her. She could have worked in any number of essential services to have been allowed access in here. Unfortunately, she wasn’t part of my flight crew.

She bent down and swiped up a water bottle from beside her feet and then tipped it to her lips and swallowed. And that was my cue to leave.

I smirked to myself as I made my way to the laundry bin, throwing the now used towel into it from several feet away. With way more willpower than I thought I possessed, I stepped out of the gym without looking back.

I would have liked to have changed into uniform before returning to the main deck, but a communique from the Sector One Fleet was unexpected. It was harder not to ask Pavo to divulge sensitive information over the ship’s speakers than it was to catch a final glimpse of the woman in the gym. But my stride down the corridor towards the lift did lengthen.

I stepped into the tube-like capsule; it amused me that we hadn’t yet come up with a futuristic name for an elevator yet. Marshal would say we should call it a turbolift. I chuckled to myself and entered the code for the bridge deck; hoping against hope, I wouldn’t walk into the mayor when I got off the damn thing. Luck was on my side, and I made my ready room without encountering any overstuffed politicians. The door slid shut behind me, and the screen above my desk lit up. I hadn’t even had to say a thing to Pavo to activate it.

The message was a visual comm, which would have required more energy to send. That let me know before I even played it that this would not be good. The sender wanted me to be able to confirm the veracity of the message, then.

“Play message,” I said, as I sat at my desk.

“John,” Captain Noah Vaughan of the Sector One vessel Chariot said from the screen, “I’ve got bad news, I’m afraid. Vela didn’t make it.”

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered.

“Another solar flare. Like yours, it was unscheduled. We barely got out behind them. In fact, I could have sworn their vessel deliberately placed itself between the flare and our fleet to protect us. We’re rudderless. We’ve got no AI to guide us. Can you wait? Will you wait?”

He looked devastated. As he should be. Over one thousand souls lost.

And then I shook my head and sat back in my seat, angered at myself.

Over eleven billion souls lost. Not all of whom we’d left behind were on that ship.

“I know you have jump quotas to meet,” Vaughan was saying. “I also know you won’t have reached your next waypoint by the time you get this message. We’ve increased thrust to 115% in an effort to catch up. John,” he said, pleading in his eyes. “We can’t do this without an AI. We need you. We have seven fully functional vessels left in our fleet. Over ten thousand souls, John. Please wait. Please.”

The communique flickered out. I kept staring at the darkened screen, unable to comprehend what Vaughan and the rest of the Sector One Fleet must be feeling. The Corinthian’s captain might have insisted Pavo stay out of their boost thrust, but without a lead AI-controlled vessel, the Corinthian, and any other vessel in this fleet wouldn’t be able to reach even Eris, let alone our final destination. The computational requirements would be too much for a standard ship’s onboard computer.

“Pavo,” I said, shocked to hear my voice sounded so normal. “Can you confirm the loss of Vela, please.”

“I am unable to locate Vela within the Sector One Fleet, Captain.”

He didn’t sound upset. But then he shouldn’t, should he? He was a machine. Nothing more. But I couldn’t help feeling Pavo felt something. He felt something, and he was hiding it.

Ridiculous and fantasy. I was upset enough for the both of us.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and swallowed thickly.

“Can you estimate their time of arrival?” I asked.

“I can do more than estimate for you, Captain. Should the Chariot and those vessels remaining in the Sector One Fleet maintain 115% thrust, and should we maintain position for them, they will reach us in two days, seven hours and thirteen minutes. This is lengthening as we speak as our fleet has not stopped forward momentum.”

I stared at the gel wall before me and had to make a concerted effort to think.

“How far will that put us behind our next jump quota?”

“If all systems remain nominal for both fleets, one day, seven hours, and fifteen minutes. This is lengthening as we speak as our fleet has not stopped forward momentum.”

“What are the chances something could go wrong with what remains of the Sector One Fleet?”

“At 115% thrust, there is 56.78% chance one in seven of the vessels attempting to catch us could have main boost thrust anomalies resulting in diminished ability to maintain such speeds.”

I stared at the wall, feeling sick to my stomach.

“Captain,” Pavo said. “The odds are not in their favour. We should proceed.”

“So, you’d give up on them even though they have a 41.22% chance of making it?”

“The odds are not in their favour, Captain. And we have a jump quota to meet.”

“Fuck the jump quota,” I muttered.

“I do not understand your sentiment,” Pavo remarked.

“That’s not how humans think, Pavo,” I said, exasperated. “Over ten thousand souls left of humanity, and they need us.”

“Using that thought process, does not the 11.2 billion remaining on Earth need us too, Captain?”

I shook my head and fisted my hands on my knees.

“We can’t help them, Pavo. But we can help those ten thousand people.”

Silence met my words for several heartbeats. Or whirls of Pavo’s processors.

“I fail to see how this meets the terms of this ship’s lease.”

And that there was the crux of the matter. Mayor Cecil had been placed in charge of the civilian population, which was here at Archibald’s behest. Archibald didn’t want the day to day running of a ship this big, so he - and other ships like this one - had appointed a politician to do it for him. I needed to see Archibald directly. But the man was eccentric and elitist. Even the captain of his leased vessel would have to get in line and make an appointment.

But going through Samuel Cecil would amount to only one thing.

A direct order to meet the terms of the ship’s lease.

I reported to Anderson Universal; I had a certain amount of autonomy over the running of this ship. Of this fleet. But even I couldn’t stand against the terms of the ship’s lease.

I let out a defeated breath of air and clenched my teeth. Over ten thousand souls. It was a small number in comparison to those we’d left behind to burn. It was a drop in the ocean of humanity’s defeat.

But damn it all to hell it meant something.

Ten thousand souls. I would not lose them.

“Pavo,” I said. “Tell me who has the most sway over Archibald?”

“Damon Archibald holds the lease to this vessel and is in full control of Archibald Enterprises. There is no one above him to hold sway.”

“Personally, then. Who in his private life does he listen to?”

“At present, Mr Archibald is entertaining three lady companions on board this ship, has a younger stepbrother he barely communicates with, a cousin he cheats at poker with, and a former nanny he has listed as VIP.”

“Nanny?” I scowled at the ceiling.

“Marama Kereama raised Damon Archibald as if he were her own. From the age of six, he relied on her for all his emotional needs. He has often said he would not have achieved as greatly as he has if not for the love of his nanny.”

“He said that?”

“I have found reference of such in Earth’s newsfeeds.”

“Nanny,” I said, nodding my head. “Please tell me I can get to her.”

“Her niece is the pay-for-passage assigned to Doctor Medina.”

I smiled. “I guess I should welcome her to the Anderson Universal team.”

“She has already received the memo.”

I laughed.

“You are amused.”

“Yes, I’m amused; you make me laugh.”

“I have been told this before,” Pavo announced.

Really? By whom?

I shook my head and entered the ensuite bathroom; impressing the nanny required Anderson uniform with full regalia. Besides, there were more pressing things than Pavo’s unusual behaviour to be concerned with.

Ten thousand pressing things.