Tevun-Krus #34 - GothPunk

The Death Deception - A Short Story by @silentis

"We are the dead, denied our end."

I roll my eyes. It's as if the last shift hasn't even tried. They need a lobotomy if they thought this was a cool wake-up speech.

A beep sounds over the intercom and the message begins to repeat itself as I haul my body out of the cryopod that's been my home for the last...I don't know how long. The movement makes me dizzy, so I lean against the pod opposite until the feeling passes.

"End message, please, Selly," I ask, making sure my voice is loud enough for the ship's computer to pick up.

"We are the dead, denied our end."

"Yeah, I got that, thanks." I lift my head up and take a deep breath of sterile air. It doesn't do much to settle my stomach.

Around me, the clean walls of the ship shine a blinding white, the message creeping across them in its crisp, mechanical font.

In my mind I curse the previous shift with every word I can think of. Somehow they've managed to break one of the most sophisticated computers I've ever worked with.

Of course, I've only ever worked with one, but I've heard of the others.

As it is, it looks like I'm going to have to fix it, so I tap a command into the wall interface and wait for the floor arrows to light up before following them to the bridge.

On my way, I can't help noticing that the ship seems to be in an unusual state of disrepair; lights flicker and broken-down cleaner robots lie in the middle of corridors. How long has it been since my last shift?

I check the status display on the wall, which has been following me as I walk. Ten years, give or take, so the same as always.

There are five hundred of us aboard. Four hundred and ninety-nine asleep at any one time. Each week, one of us goes back to sleep and another wakes up, ready to keep the ship maintained. We like to leave each other inspiring or funny speeches for when we wake up. I have no idea when it started, but it's a fun tradition.

Clearly, the quality of speeches is starting to deteriorate. When we signed up, we were all impressed by the prospect of only having to be awake for five weeks out of a fifty year mission. It's kind of weird that people might already be getting bored. This is my fourth shift. After the next one, I'll be waking up on a brand new home.

Movement catches my eye as I pass a service corridor and I pause to examine it. A second later, one of the acclimatisation robots shuffles into view. I don't know if it's my mind projecting human behaviour onto it, but it seems to jump when it notices me. Its smooth body teeters on its gyroscope as it turns to face me with the wide, static smile printed on its head.

"Ms Oppenheimer!" it says, scattering its voice-print with a few cheery notes. "How good it is to see you – what a wonderful morning this is!" It punches something beside it and whatever it is goes skittering off down another corridor.

"What was that, Dee?" I ask, craning my neck to see round it.

"Oh, it was just a cleaner." It tries to make a dismissive gesture, but it's difficult to get right with claw hands and an immovable grin. "They work better if you give them a good kick now and then."

"But-"

"I'm sure you're eager to get started." It drapes a stiff arm over my shoulders and wheels towards the bridge, nudging me forwards at a gentle walk. "Now I'm afraid your predecessor had a little accident. You'll have to excuse the mess – the cleaners have been otherwise occupied."

Confused and a bit disturbed, I let it guide me. Try as I might to examine its expression, only its blank stare smiles back.

With a whir which seems more laboured than it was on my last shift, the glass doors to the bridge slide open. I gasp and jump back, heart pounding in my chest.