Cal scraped salt-crust off the lettuce beds, same as every shift for nineteen years. Then the wall-screen flickered. MOTION 4,114: TERMINATE THE SLEEPER IN BAY 9. He didn't know the ship had a Bay 9. Below the words, a tally climbed: 200, 201, 202. But nobody was at the crew terminals. The votes were coming from somewhere else.

Cal dropped his scraper and went to find Bay 9. The corridor map had no such room, but when he traced the wall with his hand, he felt a seam the paint had hidden. A door. He pressed it, and it sighed open into the dark.

Inside Bay 9 was a single glass tank, fogged with cold. A woman floated in it, asleep, wires at her temples. A small plate read: FOUNDER. ORIGINAL CAPTAIN. Cal had grown up hearing the Captain was a legend, long dead. She was right here, and the ship wanted her gone.