Chapter 2: Orientation

The trip from Earth to the New Unity wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d thought it would be. The rocket was a cargo ship with crates stacked all over the cabin and no windows, which had given a claustrophobic feeling to the interior. But only two people had vomited, and the man next to me was unconscious for just a few seconds. Once we’d docked on the New Unity, we were greeted by a few crewmembers who led us to a large conference room.

We were officially aboard the New Unity, and orientation was starting.

Most of the meeting was spent talking about schedules and protocols: the shifts we were expected to work, how to interact with guests, filling out paperwork. We’d been given a layout of the New Unity on our first day of training and had been expected to have it memorized by our first day aboard the ship.

I’d relished the map, aware that the more I knew about the ship, the easier it would be to find Sanjeet. Part of me hoped I’d see him just walking around, completely fine. I’d been on the lookout since we docked, but I hadn’t seen anything yet. And part of me knew it wouldn’t happen. Sanjeet wouldn’t go eight months without writing. Not unless something bad had happened.

The meeting is nearing an end when a burly man steps onto the small stage. His jumpsuit stretches tight across his broad shoulders, making the word security easily readable.

His brown hair is cropped short against his pale skin, and he holds himself like he’s ex-military. His eyes scan the room, as if looking for troublemakers. He stands with his feet apart and hands clasped behind his back. His voice is loud and deep when he finally speaks.

“My name is Booker,” he says,” and I’m the head of security aboard the New Unity. We run a tight ship, which means we expect each of you to not only follow the rules but also make sure all your co-workers do as well.”

From the moment he starts talking, I immediately dislike Booker. I’ve run into his kind before. They’ve been in every job I’ve ever worked: arrogant, angry people who feel entitled to more than what life’s given them. People who abuse what little power they have because they despise not having more of it.

I know we won’t get along, so I make a mental note to avoid him as much as possible. I’m not here to rock the boat; I’m here to find Sanjeet.

Booker is still talking, and my attention is piqued by what he starts to say.

“If you haven’t already, you’ll notice that your maps of the New Unity don’t include the sublevel of the ship. That’s because, unless given explicit permission from me or my team, access there is strictly forbidden.”

I didn’t know this. I wasn’t aware our map was incomplete. I'm instantly intrigued. Why would they block off an entire section of the ship to the crew unless they were hiding something? I’m already planning how to get down there, but my hopes are dashed as Booker continues.

“None of your employee badges will give you access to the sublevel, and anyone caught attempting to go in will be immediately fired and detained until they can be sent back to Earth. As you all know, the New Unity is a highly advanced ship with a vast amount of proprietary technology, and we’ve had instances of corporate espionage in the past. Because of that, we’ve had to develop a strict retaliation policy.”

Once Booker finishes, he steps off the stage and the other workers begin wrapping up the orientation, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said. Others may buy his excuse, but it reeks of bullshit to me. Yeah, the New Unity may have stiff competition with other companies, but there’s no way an entire level of the ship is being used to protect corporate secrets.

They’re hiding something down there, and I’m going to find out what.

* * *

After orientation, we break for lunch. The team leads us to the employee cafeteria, which is loud and smells strongly of onions. The entire room is sterile, from the dull white tiles on the floor to the flimsy, plastic tables. The walls and ceiling are unadorned, just thick expanses of exposed metal. There’s been no attempt to make this place feel warm or welcoming. It’s a functional and pragmatic design, like what you’d expect in an operating room or on a cruise ship. Space is limited on the New Unity, and every square inch is valuable, meaning employee spaces are as sparse as possible to give added value to the guests’ rooms and common areas.

The New Unity is simple in design—just a circle with a hole in the middle like a donut. All the guest rooms are on the outside of the ring, giving them the best views. The employee quarters take up the inside of the ring, where the occasional window only looks out to the boring, metallic exterior of the ship.

This layout also means most employee spaces are long and skinny, to allow for large and wide guest hallways that don’t feel cramped or crowded. While the guest spaces are immaculate and don’t give off the impression that every square inch has been brutally calculated for, this isn’t the case with the employee spaces. Just like below deck on a cruise ship, there doesn’t seem to be enough space for the crew to move or live, yet we somehow manage.

As I snake through the lunch line, I load my plate up with my pre-determined rations. This includes the thick bar that contains the majority of the nutrients we need. While the guests have access to the best chefs from Earth, the primary concern for employees is that we remain healthy and productive.

Part of the preliminary health assessment included a dietary analysis, and employees are expected to meet strict nutritional requirements. It’s not easy to replace a sick worker in space, so Smith Capital has apparently decided it’s more cost-effective to make sure we stay healthy. However, looking at the gritty food and heavy nutrition bar on my plate, it’s obvious they were more concerned about finding a solution that met dietary needs instead of tasting good.

Stepping out of the line, I head into the main section of the cafeteria and look for somewhere to sit. A few tables away, I recognize a group of new employees, so I make my way toward them. An elderly Hispanic woman sees me and smiles as she scoots over to make room.

We introduce ourselves and then the group goes back to talking. I’m content with just listening as I eat. I’m not here to make friends or get to know my coworkers. I don’t want anything distracting me from my mission.

I’m only half listening when the conversation catches my interest. Someone had asked the group why they wanted to work on the New Unity, and a man who’d introduced himself as Trevor is talking. He has dirty blond hair that’s piled on top of his head in a messy bun and a few days’ worth of sandy stubble on his cheeks.

“To be honest,” he says, “I’m not here for the work.” We look at him, puzzled, and wait for him to continue. “I actually left a really good job as a software engineer to be here,” he says. “Being part of the cleaning crew was the only job I could get, though.” He takes a moment to scan the room then lowers his head. “I’m here to find my girlfriend,” he says in a whisper. He looks around the table expectantly, as if waiting for us to gasp or ask questions.

“Are you stalking her or something?” asks a woman at the end of the table. Trevor’s smile falters, and he begins to speak more quickly.

“No,” he splutters, clearly not pleased at the turn of the conversation. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then why?” asks the man sitting next to Trevor.

“Because,” he says, “she went missing.”

I freeze, my fork halfway to my mouth. I will myself to continue eating, to continue acting normal, as if every neuron isn’t screaming for him to tell me more. Trevor has the table’s attention now, so he continues.

“Her name’s Elizabeth,” he says. “She was part of the first crew that came to work here. She used to email and text me all the time, but then she just stopped. I haven’t heard from her in over six months. Nothing.”

He lets his words hang in the air, then the man to his side speaks up.

“She probably just got sick of you, mate,” he says, smiling as the table bursts into laughter. Trevor doesn’t find it funny, though. His expression is serious, his lips pressed tightly together.

“That’s not it,” he mutters, but the table has already moved on to a different conversation. “Something happened to her, and I’m going to figure out what.”

I want to ask him more questions, to compare notes, but I hold myself back. I don’t know enough to randomly start telling people why I’m here. I intentionally avoided saying anything about Sanjeet during my own application process. As far as I’m aware, no one here knows we’re related, and that’s how I want it. If Booker was any indication, the fewer people who know I’ll be snooping around, the better. I have a feeling extracurriculars like investigating the disappearance of your brother are frowned upon.

I spend the rest of the meal just listening, and I’m about to leave when Trevor suddenly speaks, his voice harsh. He’d been quiet ever since he’d told his story, but now his hands are shaking, his face red.

“Who did this?” he asks, looking around the table. He’s clutching a piece of crumpled paper in his hand. No one says anything, so he stands up and slams his fists on the table. The rest of the cafeteria looks over at us momentarily before going back to their meals.

“Who did this?” he repeats, holding out the paper. “Who put this in my bag?”

“What’re you talking about?” the man asks. Trevor looks around the table again, his eyes scanning each of our faces.

“It’s not funny,” he finally says, throwing the paper on the table before storming away.

I look down at it and read what’s written: For your own good, stop looking for her.

Everyone at the table looks at one other, but no one says anything. The meaning is clear—none of us wrote that. Someone else did.