Captain Miller looked down at the data tablets on the table and shook his head with a bitter smile. He addressed the dispirited crew around the conference table. "We're like sailors trapped on a ship in a storm. The only thing to be grateful for is that there are no rats in our hold. Dr. Peters, I hope you've inventoried the medical supplies. Dr. Will, you're the only one here who understands the cryo-pods."
We are the rats, Dr. Peters thought. We can't even pull the sails or turn the rudder. We're worse than rats gnawing through ropes.
"Our medical supplies can still support one more period of hibernation, and all our physical conditions can handle it. First Lieutenant Smith's efforts on the treadmill haven't been wasted." Dr. Peters spoke listlessly. This mission had been so highly classified that she had not even been able to say goodbye to her son, whose legs were disabled. She feared that if something happened to her in space, Houston would never tell her son about the classified mission she had undertaken. If that happened, her son might resent her forever.
"If you think we can rely on hibernation to get through this stretch of the journey, then I can only say it's not a very good decision. I spoke with engineering. We don't have enough fuel to provide sufficient acceleration for the return trip, so I think we must hibernate on the way back to reduce our consumption of food, medicine, oxygen, and water. If we don't, we'll likely die in space, either from suffocation or starvation."
"Any more bad news, gentlemen?" Captain Miller let out a long sigh.
"I have no objections." First Lieutenant Smith spoke expressionlessly. "I just want to know when we can get out of this fog. We never