Chapter 4

late 2216 En Route to Ptolemy-1 Third Officer Evan George Charles O’Connor-Davies the 4th

I was cursed, being born a descendant of the 1st Viscount of Brey and Rhonteen, Major General Sir Alberic Evan George O’Connor-Davies, VC, KCB, OBE, and double DCO. For two centuries, my family has been trying to redeem ourselves from his deeds, and bring at least a little honor back to the name O’Connor-Davies.

I thought I was doing acceptably well. I made sure to double-check my uniform before entering any public spaces. I watched my language carefully and never cursed, even when alone with close friends. My remarkably high scores in training got me assigned as Third Officer. Only three others on the ship had more authority. I showed respect to people’s religious beliefs and encouraged them when it led to charity or other good behavior, even though the primitive idea of religion offended my rational mind.

I was extra-sure to praise those of non-European descent whenever I noticed them doing good work, and gave them priority and precedence whenever possible. The poor souls deserved it, after all their forebearers suffered through in the past.

My monstrous ancestor had conquered and oppressed millions of them, during the detestable Colonial Wars of the nineteenth century, then been knighted twice and made a Viscount for it. In those dark times, he was hailed as a hero wherever he went, because his cleverness and leadership helped enslave four countries. I committed my life to undoing his evil work. There would be no racism or oppression on the ship, or on our new world. No matter the cost, I WOULD NOT allow it.

I had no idea the worst thing in my life would be a five-gram piece of icy comet tail, smaller than a grape. It was barely even moving, but we were at 98 percent of light speed.

My duty for the last month wasn’t very heroic. Most of my crew and I were searching the ship for any air leaks. Micro-holes created by dust particle impacts weren’t an immediate danger, but over the course of years, a large number could leak a significant amount of oxygen. I carried a detector in one hand and a roll of tape in the other. It seemed a little absurd to me, fixing one of humanity’s most complex creations, with something as basic as tape. In 20 days, we found six leaks, all of them smaller than the width of a hair.

Soon, I would go back in cold sleep. I could continue my dream of worshipping my Nigerian goddesses, styling their hair, painting their finger and toenails, and kissing their lovely feet in their high heels. Their toes were so beautiful! I loved to kiss and suck them!

They would reward me with a parade and crown me their Foot King! The two of them would let me sit by their sexy feet, between their thrones. A group of dark-skinned boys carried bundles of flowers up the stairs to us in front of the crowd, and...

“CRUNCH!” The ship rocked! Red lights started to flash, and a siren blared; “REE! REE! REE! REE!...”

As I ran for the cockpit, I shouted; “COLLISION ALARM! EMERGENCY STATIONS! WAKE THE COMMANDER!”

I knew it would take at least ten minutes to revive him. I was in charge until then. As I entered the cockpit, I urgently asked, “What information do we have? Damage report?”

“We lost connection to lander 2 and water tank D. Tanks B and C are leaking, and airlock 2 is damaged. Course changed 1.6 degrees to starboard.”

I contemplated and gave orders, “We can adjust course later. Close the two bulkheads inside airlock 2, and the ones next to lander 2. Water levels in tanks B and C?”