Stardust Secrets
Torque at work
The recycled air of the Stardust Dream always smelt faintly of old Chanel and desperation. Torque figured it had just become the accompanying odour of another 12-hour shift where one day rolled into the next. So as she tightened the last bolt on a recalcitrant access panel in the ship’s laundry, she barely noticed the rhythmic thunk of her wrench or the Muzak killing another Earth classic; this time it was a soulless version of "Fly Me to the Moon." The synthetic dross bounced off the cold metal plating, no need for any fit and finish or even soundproofing down here in the unseen service areas of this obnoxiously large planet cruiser.
Torque, a thin woman with dark brown hair and an instantly forgettable face (according to her overbearing mother), wiped a smear of grease across her cheek, leaving a faint orange streak against her pale skin. The corporate-issue orange jumpsuit, designed for maximum visibility in the cramped and often dim maintenance tunnels, was easy to wash but hard to wear; the comfort of the employees was never a priority.
Her wrist task manager chirped: the next ‘urgent’ job. They were always marked urgent these days but seldom were; this time, it was a simple malfunctioning light panel in another luxury quarter. No wait this was important, this was Captain Valerius’s cabin. Torque had never spoken with him, but she had seen him dozens of times in the atrium, all perfect posture and practiced charm as he entertained wealthy passengers. She'd always noticed how his smile never quite reached his eyes.
After 15 minutes of navigating the cruiser's maintenance corridors, she reached the posh upside of the ship. Torque flashed her all-access pass over the captain’s door; it dutifully opened, and she came face to face with the blinking Luma S459 light panel, which was highly reliable 54 years ago when originally installed, but like everything else on this ship now really needed to be replaced. The light panel was overlaid with decorative simulated wood capping, which, when working correctly, gave a warm ambient light to the plush, if not retro, cabin. As she removed the ‘plazwood’ facade and scanned the panel below, she almost immediately noticed something unrelated but odd—a small, almost imperceptible unevenness in the wall above the light panel section. Curiosity piqued, she carefully pried at it to reveal a small holosafe, not actually invisible but cloaked in digital camouflage that took on the texture and colour of wherever it was placed.
It was top-notch tech on a tired old cruiser, and most people wouldn’t have noticed it, let alone been able to open it. But Torque wasn’t like most people, much to her mother's frustration. Inside the holosafe, she found no jewels but a small, empty vial labeled "Mellow-X" and a small note taking tablet.
Intrigued, Torque plugged it into her own handheld diagnostic device. This wasn’t the official captain's log; this was a personal diary of sorts. The entries weren’t the usual smarmy eloquence of the Captain. These were the digital scribbles of a man riddled with anxiety, haunted by the constant threat of system failures, ever-shrinking repair budgets, and the pressure from corporate to keep the Stardust Dream running, no matter the lack of everything.
"Another near miss today," one entry read. "The port stabilizer almost gave out during zero-g yoga. How long before something catastrophic happens? How long before they realize we’re flying a coffin?"
Another entry mentioned Mellow-X, describing it as a "necessary evil" to "maintain composure." The fast-acting anti-anxiety medication was technically an instant firing offence for anyone in such an important role as captain.
Torque felt a strange mix of surprise and pity for Valerius, who always appeared the embodiment of calm and control. He had seemed a cut above the rest, but was actually like most of the crew only hanging by a few mental threads.
She carefully replaced the log and the vial, closing the small safe. She replaced the starter chip in the light panel in double-quick time and left the Captain’s quarters with her worst suspicions confirmed: the Stardust Dream wasn’t the 5-star pleasure cruiser of the adverts and reviews; it was just a hunk of glitzy junk kept flying by corporate greed quick welds, clamp tape and secrets. Torque reflected on the phrase her great-great-grandmother from Brit City would use often , "All fur coat and no knickers." Yes that described this sad old ship perfectly.,,
