Season 1 Episode 04: The Cook's Escape Pod

Yes, the Ship's Steward will pilot an escape pod.

With Shelly's arm around my shoulders, we navigated through the disaster area to the doorway with her using the bar as a handrail. She gestured down the hallway towards a crowd that was gathering.

“I guess the escape pods are that way,” I said, and we hobbled in that direction like partners in a potato sack race.

“They say we hit a mine left over from the Kavanogh War,” I heard someone say as we approached the mob emptying into the five wide doorways.

“I don’t think so,” someone else replied. “Not in a well-traveled hyperspace lane. Besides, would we still be here if it were a mine? This isn’t a warship. I should think we’d have been hulled...then we’d all be dead.”

"Wow, full of happy thoughts," I said.

Shelly just sniffed.

When we reached an escape pod, we found that the hatch doorway was a third of a meter from the floor. I hooked my arm under the knee of Shelly’s injured and swollen leg to lift her foot over the threshold, but just then, a short, dark-haired woman pushed me aside and crowded past. I lost my balance and fell over into Shelley, and the two of us hit the floor of the escape pod in a pile of tangled extremities.

“What's the matter with you?” the woman grated without looking back. “Women and children first!”

“My apologies!” I shouted at her back. I noticed she left a water trail on the carpet behind her.

“You dropped something,” I added as she merged with the other passengers in the pod.

I'd expected large escape pods on a ship this size, but this one surprised me. Still, the hundred or so seats filled up rapidly, and the chaos began to subside as most of us selected our spots and sat down. Brent Underwood, one of the cruise ship's cooks, closed and sealed the door. Then, he walked down the center aisle, checking on people as he went and making sure those who needed first aid or other care were seated next to someone who could provide it.

Shelly hadn’t stopped crying.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

Upon arrival at the front of the aisle, the cook traded his chef’s hat for a communications headset, sat in the pilot's chair, and began humming a tune while thumbing through what looked like flight manuals and checklists.

“Wait!” said the pushy short woman. “Are you the one who’s gonna fly this thing?”

He glanced up at her briefly and shook his head.

“Hopefully not,” he said calmly, “most everything is automated.” He flipped a few switches on his console, and the pod’s systems began powering up. Despite his calm demeanor, I saw beads of sweat on his half-bald head.

“Great! Let me out!” She said, standing up. “I’ll go find another pod.”

“Sit down and relax,” I said, “Ms...”

“Smith,” she grimaced. “Natalie Smith, and don’t tell me what to do!”

“This escape pod is full,” said the cook, looking first at me and then at Natalie. “I have orders to separate from the ship immediately, so I can’t open that door again. You're dripping wet, though, and I still don't have it warmed up quite enough in here yet. We have towels and blankets in the back.” Then he turned to the flight console and began flipping switches and turning dials, marking off each on a checklist. Someone handed Natalie a blanket and a towel. Someone else gave Shelly an ice pack for her leg.

“Well, Chef Underwood,” Natalie sneered as she began scrubbing her hair with the towel., “I don’t think you should be flying us anywhere. Soufflés and escape pods are totally dif...”

“Well,” I interrupted, speaking to the room. “We’ll all be together at least until we get to wherever we’re going, so we might as well get to know each other. It looks like Brent Underwood is the pod's commander and crew rep. I’m Jason Knudson. This is Natalie Smith. Why don’t we all go through the pod, row by row and seat by seat, and introduce ourselves.”

“Here," Brent said, holding up a clipboard with a long, alphabetized list of passenger names.

I stood to take it as someone in the front row handed me a pen.