For the last twelve years of Starship Sol's descent into the darkness of deep space, a passenger has woken up on the first day of summer.

Since seasonal patterns are simulated within the first and second floors of the starship, the summer experience is obviously subjective; how can they truly call it summer out there, in the oceans of the Milky Way, where gravity is more interested in the propulsion of rogue planets and asteroids than the delicate oscillation of poles, moons—worlds bending to the gravitational will of a star?

Fake or not, the simulation of summer returns to the starship on cue, and one of the cryogenesis pods pops open.

Starting the third year of early pod releases, the passengers who woke up the summers before decided—perhaps, as an annual cathartic celebration—to gather around the third-floor security monitors, just to watch as the next tragic awakening happened.

Today twelve scientists of various fields—aerobiology, anatomy, astrophysics, botany, chemistry, endocrinology, evolutionary biology, molecular ecology, neurobiology, oncology, quantum physics, and zoology—get together around several three-dimensional, micro virtual realities of the cryochamber, where each pod, and the person within it, registers at a micro-level, about the size of a thumbnail.

It's because they're in this black and metallic room, reminiscing together, that the automatic unlatching of another cryogenesis pod feels more like a spectator sport than a malfunction.

Dr. Burne watches quietly as a young woman with red-brown hair pulls herself weakly from the newly opened pod, a thumb-print-sized person shivering, rubbing her arms, glancing everywhere.

But the other doctoral studies scientists, especially Dr. Ling and Dr. Gutenburch, shout and laugh with one another.

"Look at this fool."

"You were that fool once."

"She's legit freaking out."

"Should we go get her yet?"

"Nah. Let her process."

"You go in there too early, and they might attack you. Remember attacking me, Lyn?"

"I did no such thing."

"You were pissed."

"Of course I was pissed. I was recruited to terraform a planet in another star system, not eat generated food with you idiots."

"Generated food is better than the processed food I grew up on."

"Says the oncologist. You scared your papa's salami will give you cancer?"

As Dr. Burne brushes her hand along the three-dimensional display, she says, "I think I'll check on her now."

Dr. Deon and Dr. Gutenburch follow behind her. The rest of them bid the neurobiologist, evolutionary biologist, and theoretical quantum physicist good luck.

♦️

The cryogenesis chamber is chilled, so the individual pods are not under as much strain to refrigerate themselves independently.

Collective cooling systems help ease the demand on the starship's fusion duo-core, but it also means waking up from extended sleep in an icebox. The red-headed woman's teeth are chattering so hard, it's a small wonder she's staying conscious.

As Dr. Burne jogs towards the woman, her chest tightens at the last memory of blinding fear, gnawing cold, and extraordinary loneliness. But being a neurobiologist, Dr. Burne was aware of the tricks her mind tried to play on her, so she was a resilient choice for the first pod malfunction—the only one among them who spent a year in solitude.

"It's okay, it's going to be fine," Dr. Burne coos, grabbing the redhead's flailing and trembling arms.

As Dr. Burne rubs soothing circles in the woman's palms, Dr. Gutenburch, the evolutionary biologist, says, "Hello, Dr. McNeil. You're a geneticist, yes?"

"That's right," she stammers.

Dr. Deon curls her nose as she says, "Give her a sec before picking her brain."

"We need your help," Dr. Gutenburch says.

♦️

A month later—three of those weeks, spent burning the candle at both ends, as Dr. McNeil analyzes Dr. Gutenburch's data—and now they are certain of the existence of the Pyro Gene.

Though not related to fire, they know the cryogenesis chambers react with volatile misreadings to anyone who carries the gene, resulting in early release of the pod.

But why do the pods only pop open on the first day of summer?

Strangely, the cryochamber was placed under a pendulum release system, where pods open in tandem on the north and south sides.

So after a pod pops in error on the south side, with all the scientists, the starship's pendulum release system waits for a pod to open on the north side.

Except the Pyro Gene isn't present on the north side—not according to the blood bank samples Dr. Gutenburch ran.

♦️

While eating generated corn, baked potato, and pork chop, Dr. Deon says, "They had to have known about it."

Wrinkling her nose, Dr. McNeil nods in agreement. "It's possible they engineered the Pyro Gene after freezing both sides; they could've used CRISPR to tag the people in early release pods."

"But why?" Dr. Deon replies. "Why go through the trouble?"

"Asks the theoretical physicist," Dr. Burne mumbles. "Unanswerable questions are your whole profession."

"Nothing is unanswerable," Dr. Gutenburch says. "You just need to be ready to discover each brick you'll need to reach the truth."

The four of them always each lunch together, cross-legged around the silvery generator, a man-sized microwave that materializes food at the atomic level.

Dr. Gutenburch continues, "What if we're an experiment?—to see how people handle early release in a ship full of people who are asleep deep space?"

"Why conduct that sort of experiment?" Dr. Burne asks. "What's there to gain from leaving us in Purgatory?"

"I seem to remember," Dr. McNeil says, as she waves her graphene spork at them, "the artificial intelligences of Britain and Japan wanted to figure out how people survived loneliness in space."

"Yes," Dr. Gutenburch replies, "that's right."

"But I still don't see why," Dr. Deon retorts. Frustrated, she adds, "What's the motive?"

"Why do humans put ants in little glass containers," Dr. Gutenburch says, "entire worlds away from the earth, up on a child's bookshelf, just to watch them try to thrive in artificial colonies?"

Dr. Burne dumps her food into the upcycler. She instantaneously feels ill.

"It's good for kids to watch ants colonize," Dr. Deon stammers. "It helps them understand civilizations; development; collective intelligence."

Dr. Burne puts her hands on her stomach as her skin drains to pale.

Then Dr. Gutenburch says, "If we're some robot's pet project, I'm going to need better food. My Earth cat ate a diet of fresh fish, chicken, and milk. Do you have an idea how long it's been since we had fresh milk?"

♦️

First draft: October 18

Word count: 1110

Inspired by: The Wattpunk contest, When Spooky & Tech Combine, located here:

https://my.w.tt/LeiuEWVgGQ