The Loneliest Girl in the Universe

Over the next twenty-seven hours following this message, we will be transmitting a large program to The Infinity. Please install the operating system on your computer. It contains multiple updates to the current Command, Data Handling and Flight Data subsystems, which are over a decade out of date. It will allow more autonomous control of the vessel’s devices, such as improvement of translational and altitude control in the X-ray telescope observatory and the thrust throttling.

This software is used on board The Eternity, but NASA felt that it was not worth the cost of transmission from Earth to update the system on The Infinity too. However, the UPR has decided it is a worthwhile expense to ensure that any errors in the system are fixed. We do not want any operational failures due to code decay.

Thank you for your cooperation.

All hail the UPR! May the King live long and vigorously!


I’ve started getting a sick feeling in my stomach every time I open a new email from the UPR. Even though I know that the changes they are suggesting make sense, I still have to fight against my better judgement to agree. My instinct tells me that this latest request is a trick, that they’re sending me some kind of virus. If I install it, they might be able to open the airlocks, shut down the life-support system and leave me to suffocate.

But what possible advantage could they get from sending me software that would damage my ship? From what they’ve said, getting The Infinity and The Eternity was a big victory for them in the Third Global War. Why would they destroy the ships now?

J is right. I can’t let my emotions get in the way of being a good commander. I’ll be hurting The Infinity if I don’t follow their guidelines to improve the ship.

I’ve been so convinced that the UPR are the bad guys, that they only want to hurt me. But I’m going to have to do what they say.

I’ll wait and see what the program looks like when it arrives. I know a little about programming. I’ll see what updates they’ve made, and if they really do what they’ve said.

It’ll take twenty-seven hours to receive, anyway. I can change my mind before it arrives.

*

It’s the two-year anniversary of The Eternity’s launch this week. I wonder if J is celebrating, or if he’s regretting ever having left Earth at all.





DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:


247


The new operating system has finished uploading, and I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to install it. Something just doesn’t feel right. I can’t tell if my anxiety is my usual paranoia, or whether this is actually something worth worrying about.

I wish I could talk to J about this, in real time. He doesn’t seem to know that the UPR have told me to upgrade my OS to match the one he uses on The Eternity – or, at least, he didn’t mention it in his last email. There’s no reason why they would need to tell him, I suppose.

It’s not like I can ask his opinion on what to do, either – it would be two months before he even received my message. I’m going to have to make this decision on my own.

Even if the UPR are genuinely trying to help me, surely there’s a chance they’ve missed something? What if the new program has a mistake in the coding which accidentally shuts down something vital on the ship?

Decades ago, a spacecraft crash-landed on Mars because NASA messed up the units in their calculations. Half the team were using inches and the rest centimetres. The trajectory went completely off-course and the spacecraft disintegrated in the atmosphere.

What if the UPR use a different set of units to the ones NASA used? What if I install their program and The Infinity sets off to a different area of space, and I never get to Earth II? What if it alters the rotation of the ship and sends the gravity haywire, making the ship spin faster and faster until the centrifugal force pushes my brain through my spinal column like soup?

There are so many reasons to ignore their suggestion – but there are always reasons for me to hide under my duvet and do nothing instead of acting. I need to start taking more risks.

If anything goes wrong, I have to believe that I will be able to fix it. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to handle any problems that come up. And it’ll be worth it, if it makes the ship more efficient.

The UPR haven’t lied to me yet. J thinks I should listen to them, and he’s got more reason to dislike them than anyone, seeing as they took control of his country.

I’m going to do it. I’m going to install the program.

Holding my breath, I click on the file and watch the loading bar crawl across the screen. Have I just made a huge mistake, or have I added another decade to the lifetime of the ship?

I guess I’ll find out in thirty hours, when the program has finished installing.


I wake up in the middle of the night to an email telling me that the UPR have decided to end my mission. They’ve cut The Infinity’s power. There’s nothing I can do about it.

The lights stay on for an hour, then slowly, one by one, start to flicker out. I follow the last traces of power from room to room, until at last I’m in the gene bank, surrounded by floating cells in liquid.

Then the final light goes out, and I’m alone in the dark for ever

they’re moving

eyes opening

staring at me in the darkness and I can’t see

but I can hear them

murmuring

I can feel their fingers touching my face tangling in my hair

their soft fingernails skin pulling away from their bones catching on my clothes the embryos are falling apart around me silently reaching for their mother wanting me

and I’m alone

in the dark

for ever


I wake up gasping for breath.

I swear the shadows move. They lunge across the floor every time I look away, casting the shape of their long bodies around the ship’s walls. All I can do is lie in bed under the weight of their stares, their eyes lingering on me in the corner of my vision.

The dark, blunted shadows hold me under the duvet where the childlike safe place in my brain says they can’t find me. The shadows dart and swell across the room and all I can do is watch them creep closer.





DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:


245


When I check the helm in the morning, the computer’s home screen welcomes me in a glowing, almost-fluorescent blue. The words “Hello Romy” scroll across the screen and smoothly disappear. My inbox opens without me having to do anything, displaying J’s latest email.

I grin, already convinced that this was a good idea after all. It looks fresh and modern, and – in comparison with the old program – almost unbelievably advanced. In an emergency, it’s going to be able to react so much faster. It could end up saving my life.

For the first time, I feel slightly relieved that the UPR are messaging me. Even if it’s not NASA, it’s nice to know that there’s someone looking out for me.

From: The Infinity Sent: 25/06/2067

To: The Eternity Predicted date of receipt: 24/08/2067

J,

I have some bad news. The UPR updated the software on my ship’s computer, and the new program has a censoring subroutine. I can’t swear in my emails any more – look: **** ******* ***** **** ****

It’s ****ing terrible!

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