Chapter 1: Keeping Sane
Cabin-fever, the doldrums, accidie, malaise, etc. These things were deadly when one goes on a century-long voyage to the stars. Fortunately for the crew aboard the Schrödinger’s Cat—aptly named because outsiders were never sure if the crew was dead or alive—Captain Balthazar Barnaby Noble was a classic Brit. He enjoyed tea with biscuits, absolutely loved the Queen, and could practically recite the dictionary and the thesaurus all in one sitting. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a classic Brit, but he was definitely a patriotic one.
Advisor Langley came in through the holographic intercom.
“Ah,” Balthazar greeted. “A shockingly good day to you, eh Advisor Langley. What can one tired ol’ Brit do for you?”
As usual, Langley’s face was etched with annoyance as he took in the pure, undiluted patriotic disposition of the Captain.
“We’ve commenced launch of the science-ships. We’ve also received word that you’ve been responsible for the beacons back on Earth?”
“No problems, old chap! We’ve been at it like barmy bollocks!”
“What?”
“Like a cheeky chav!”
“Huh?”
“Like an Australian convict.”
“Oh.” There was a pause, then Langley continued, “Well you’ll have to modify the message and your coordinates, someone from the main administration bungled the order and sent you coordinates to the wrong star.”
“Say what? What, what? That is entirely unsporting of the fellow, dear me.”
“Yes, well, he’ll be down at Engineering Bay Four for a while as he sobers up.”
Balthazar quickly went off-screen as he consulted with an engineer. When he reappeared he looked a little uncomfortable. “I do sincerely apologise, my good fellow, but it seems to me that the beacons have been set to ‘read-only’. We’ll have to ship it back to Earth to fix this tosh.”
Langley frowned—too much fuel they’d never make it back. “Oh well, I’m sure most humans will be smart enough to realise that the coordinates are bogus anyway. We can retroactively imprint the new coordinates once we find the proper exoplanet.”
“Well, well we shouldn’t dilly dally too long or it’ll throw a spanner in the works! This has been a delightful chin wag but I’m afraid I’ve skipped morning tea, cheerio!”
The communications feed ended and Langley shook his head.
“I hate that guy,” he muttered, turning back to his orbital equations. “He’s not even British.”