Jake Young, Chapter 4 Becky nestled herself within the shadow of her command module's hatch, her gaze lingering on the spectacle before her. The boys, oblivious to the intensifying downpour, reveled in a cacophony of laughter and shouts as they engaged in an impromptu game of football. What had begun as a casual diversion soon escalated into a raucous contest of resilience amid the elements. As the rain began its relentless descent, the earth beneath their feet churned into a sloppy quagmire, each player seemingly vying for the title of muddiest combatant. The sky unleashed its fury in torrents, transforming the once orderly rows between the command modules into rivulets that swelled with every passing moment. Becky watched, safe from the deluge, yet ever conscious of the latent threat posed by errant debris—nature’s unguided missiles in this stormy onslaught. She considered the Lance ships, now cannibalized remnants of their former glory, save for the sanctuaries of the command modules. These steel cocoons remained vigilant sentinels, primed to launch their inhabitants skyward should calamity demand a hasty exodus to the dormant orbiting space stations their progenitors had established. From her vantage point, Becky noted the stoic readiness of the fleet. Three hundred potential lifelines stood defiant against the tempest outside, a testament to the steadfastness of those who engineered them, including her own lineage steeped in the craft. Her heart harbored a silent prayer that such drastic measures would remain unnecessary, even as she marveled at the indomitable spirit of play that animated the youth amidst the storm. The incessant patter of rain against metal ceased to register in Becky's consciousness, its persistent rhythm now part of the ambient backdrop of her environment. Lost in contemplation, she watched the muddy ballet of the impromptu football match unfolding before her. Her eyes traced the trajectory of a spiraling ball when an abrupt beep from the console snapped her back to the present. "Becky, I have detected a large mass of water coming this way," Orion, the artificial intelligence tasked with monitoring their surroundings, announced with clinical detachment. A flicker of concern etched itself across Becky's brow as she turned to face the console, her green eyes narrowing in focus. "A flash flood?" she questioned, her voice betraying none of the alarm that spiked within her chest. The inquiry hung in the air, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the chaos of nature's caprice. Becky understood the power of water, its devastating potential to reshape landscapes and lives with equal indifference. The thought of it barreling towards them, unyielding and relentless, propelled her into action. Her mind raced, calculating distances and escape trajectories, the engineer within assembling data into a blueprint for survival. "Most likely," Orion's voice emerged from the speakers, its tone steady and unemotional. Becky's fingers hovered over the console, the air thick with hesitation. The gravity of the situation settled upon her shoulders like a leaden shroud, yet within her stirred the resolve that had carried her through countless hours of meticulous engineering problem-solving. Her introspective nature collided with the pressing urgency of the moment; indecision was a luxury they could not afford. With a breath that was more resolution than air, Becky depressed the alarm button. Its high-pitched wail rent the atmosphere, a clarion call that sliced through the cacophony of the storm. It reverberated off the command modules, an insistent siren that left no room for doubt or ignorance. Outside, the boys' raucous play came to an abrupt halt. Mud-slicked forms ceased their wild dance, bodies frozen as the sound drilled into their consciousness. They turned in unison, eyes wide with realization as the deluge betrayed its true ferocity. Gone was the playful battle against the elements; in its place grew a shared apprehension, a primal recognition of the impending threat. Raindrops lashed at Becky's face as she observed the scene, a silent sentinel at the threshold of safety. She watched the boys, once so engrossed in their game, now grappling with the sudden intrusion of danger into their world of mirth and mud. Rain sheeted down, transforming the world into a blur of grays and greens as Becky's gaze fixed on Jake. He was motioning with determined sweeps of his arm toward his module, an island of resolute safety amidst the growing chaos. His tall frame, usually so casual in its slouch, now commanded attention with an unexpected authority. "Smart, at least he has some common sense," she mused silently, her eyes tracing the arc of his movements. The football game had dissolved into a mad dash for shelter, and Jake's module, conveniently situated, became the beacon for those stranded in the tempest. Becky's respect for Jake's quick thinking mingled with a flicker of pride; even reluctant leaders could rise when the skies themselves turned adversary. Turning from the hatch, Becky faced the communications panel, an artifact from a bygone era that now stood as their lifeline. Its surface was scarred by time, yet each red light, illuminated beneath a plastic cover, told the story of the colony's interconnected lives. The numbers corresponding to the modules glowed with an urgent vibrancy against the panel's weathered hue—signs of lively chatter that now needed silence. With a deliberate movement, Becky extended her hand and pressed the emergency override. A soft click echoed in the command module, and a hush fell over the network. The lights winked out, one by one, leaving the control room bathed in the dull glow of standby mode. The sudden quiet felt heavy, pregnant with the weight of unspoken words and stilled conversations. For a suspended moment, Becky stood alone with the power of a single voice amid the storm's crescendo—her decisions now the fulcrum upon which the safety of all balanced precariously. It was a mantle she bore with the gravitas of someone who understood the intricate dance between machinery and human life, the delicate interplay she'd been raised to navigate. Outside, the storm continued its relentless assault, indifferent to the dramas unfolding within the vessels it besieged. Becky, undeterred, prepared to marshal her charges through the tempest's fury, her every word a potential lifeline in the deluge that sought to claim them. "Everyone button up," Becky's voice, firm and devoid of panic, cut through the din of the storm. Her command issued from the communication panel, exacting obedience with precision. "Orion says a flash flood is approaching fast." The words lingered in the charged air, a stark reminder of the severity pressing upon them. Decisive steps carried her beyond the protective embrace of her module's hatch, where she became an immediate captive to the rain's onslaught. Water cascaded down, drenching her in seconds, cold and insistent. Eyes squinting against the deluge, she scanned the area, ensuring compliance to her directive. Left to right, her gaze swept over the sodden landscape—silent modules stood sentinel now as their young occupants heeded the call to safety. Satisfied with what she observed, Becky retreated, the hatch sealing behind her with a finality that spoke of refuge against nature's wrath. Droplets trailed paths down her face as she made her way to the sanctuary of her quarters. In the privacy of her space, the clamor of Jake's voice resonated from the com-system, his calm cadence reinforcing her earlier command. "Button-up," he urged, his tone betraying no hint of the curiosity that often led him to question rather than dictate. It was a rare moment of leadership, one that stirred within her a flush of pride for his adaptability. A wry grin etched itself onto her lips. Efficiency had been her ally this day, yet redundancy bore its own form of reassurance when spoken from Jake's measured tongue. Becky peeled away the saturated layers that clung to her skin, exchanging them for the dry comfort of fresh clothing. She listened, her ears attuned to the orders still filtering through from Jake, and considered the strange harmony between their actions—two parts of a greater whole working in concert amidst chaos. Clad in dry attire, Becky's movements were purposeful as she collected a cache of blankets and pillows from the storage compartment. The fabric whispered against itself, a soft accompaniment to the rain's relentless symphony on the hull. With her arms full, she navigated the narrow corridor to the kitchenette—a name granted more by aspiration than reality. Yet within its confines, practicality reigned; here was a space where sustenance could be coaxed from raw ingredients, where a communal table bore witness to strategy sessions rather than shared meals. The refrigerator hummed its quiet vigil in the corner, safeguarding perishables. She withdrew a bag of carrots, their vibrant hue a stark contrast to the muted tones of the module. Provisioned for the vigil ahead, she returned to the hatch area with her trove. Becky eased down the pile of linens beside the closed hatch, the armor retracted to reveal the panoramic window. Here, beneath the transparent barrier, she could gaze upon the deluge without succumbing to its chill embrace. A cascade of raindrops painted the glass, each droplet a miniature lens refracting the turmoil of the storm-ravaged world beyond. Methodically, she arranged the blankets into a makeshift nest, fluffing pillows to cradle weary limbs. Comfort amidst chaos, she mused, a silent declaration of resilience. Settling herself against the cushions, her gaze lingered on the scene unfolding through the window—a tableau of nature's unchecked dominion over the fragile constructs of humanity. The deluge had transformed the world outside the hatch into a churning river of destruction. The relentless torrent surged through the colony dome, a force both awe-inspiring and merciless. Becky watched as it swallowed the landscape whole, crates and barrels bobbing like corks on the surface, hurtling past with the current. Debris clung to them—remnants of their once orderly existence. She could not help but observe the irony in the chaos; these were the same supplies they had meticulously cataloged and stored for survival, now unmoored and adrift. When the storm abated, they would embark on a scavenger hunt dictated by necessity rather than leisure, reclaiming what the flood sought to claim as its own. Amidst her contemplation, the data pad at her side sprang to life, its screen illuminating with a succession of pings that cut through the drone of rain against metal. She reached for it, fingers brushing against the cool surface as she unlocked the device. Messages filled the screen, each one an echo of the last, sent from the ten-year-olds under her wing. Their words, though varied in phrasing, shared a singular essence—a reflection of their collective anxiety. In each message, the subtext was clear: beneath the veneer of digital bravado, they sought reassurance from the one they trusted to guide them through uncertainty. "Becky, is everything going to be okay?" The question, repeated in myriad forms, seemed to pulse from the screen, demanding her attention and care. "Hey, Beck, why did Jake lock the com-panel?” another message asked. “We were playing a game of guess the quantum equation?" The text seemed almost plaintive amidst the chaos unfurling outside. Jake, ever the enigmatic leader, had exercised his authority for reasons not yet clear to the rest of them. Becky knew his actions were not without merit; he bore the weight of the colony's welfare on his shoulders, a burden that demanded caution over camaraderie. With a swift motion, she composed her response, the soft tapping of her fingers against the pad forming a counterpoint to the storm's rhythm. Her words, chosen for their clarity and concision, flowed onto the screen: "Jake has prioritized emergency communications. Stand by for further instructions." She initiated the group-send function, dispatching her message into the digital ether. It would reach the eager, inquisitive minds of her young cohort, each of whom was undoubtedly peering through their own hatches at the deluge transforming their world. As the sent confirmation flashed, Becky leaned back, a silent observer once more. The gravity of their situation pressed upon her, but within that pressure, she found a kernel of resolute determination. She would be the lighthouse in this storm, guiding her group through whatever lay ahead. Becky's fingers paused above the data pad, suspended in a moment of pensive stillness. The incessant drumming of rain against the module's hull provided an ambient backdrop to her thoughts. She considered the probable rationale behind Jake's decision, finding it aligned with the caution that characterized his leadership style. Her reply to the children's query was swift and straightforward, as she chose her words for their ability to convey necessity over disappointment. "Utilize your data-tablets for personal communications until further notice." The screen glowed with the sent confirmation, its pale light a stark contrast to the deepening gloom outside. Becky shifted her gaze from the artificial luminescence to the murky vista beyond the hatch glass. Nature's onslaught showed no signs of abating, and the deluge sculpted rivulets into the land that had been parched mere hours before. Amidst the cacophony of the storm, a new alert chimed from her data pad—a message bearing the unmistakable levity of Jeffrey's humor. A smirk tugged at her lips despite the severity of their predicament. "Hey, Beck, I’m going outside to go swimming," the text on her screen taunted. Becky shook her head; even in chaos, Jeffrey found space for jest. She could imagine his impish grin as he composed the message, safe within his own command module yet brimming with the irrepressible urge to inject humor into the direst of situations. Her fingers danced across the pad once more, indulging in the brief respite his words offered. "Your aquatic aspirations will have to wait, Jeffrey," she replied. "I don’t even want to think about what’s swimming around in that water." With her duty fulfilled, Becky sank back into her seat, allowing herself a momentary reprieve. The weight of responsibility lay heavy upon her, but in these fleeting exchanges, there existed a camaraderie that fortified her resolve. As the storm raged on, so too would they—united, resilient, and undeterred. The corners of her mouth curled upward as she read Jeffrey's latest missive. He had always possessed a knack for levity, no matter the circumstances. Her data pad was awash in a sea of 'LOL's cascading after his text—a testament to the group's collective need for light-heartedness amidst the tempest. She nestled back into the cocoon of blankets she had arranged earlier, her mind already drifting to the next challenge they would face when the sun wrestled control from the clouds once more. Becky's fingers hovered above the data pad, preparing to craft another reply to Jeffrey's jesting, when the com-system crackled to life. Jake's voice cut through the cacophony of the storm, steady as ever, a lighthouse in the auditory fog. "I’ve locked the com-system," he announced, the message slicing through the din of rain assaulting the command module. "We’re going to have a colony meeting. I have some announcements. If you want to say something, push the request button so I can see the light for your module flash, but first, are there any immediate emergencies, does anyone need help?" His words, bearing the gravity of leadership, prompted Becky to survey her surroundings once more. She considered the safety of her charges, her eyes scanning the indicators that confirmed all were secure within their respective shelters. The relentless downpour outside seemed to challenge the integrity of their haven, yet the modules stood resilient—silhouetted bastions against the deluge. As she processed Jake's call to attention, a soft chime from her tablet signaled an incoming message. It was Jeffrey again, his digital presence undeterred by the escalating severity of the situation. Becky swiped the screen, her movements deliberate, unveiling his latest attempt at humor amidst the chaos. "I'm out of potato chips, that's an emergency," Jeffrey proclaimed in a text bubble, his words a stark contrast to the dire warnings and strategic directives that had been flooding their channels. "Always the jester," Becky muttered under her breath, though a reluctant grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She knew better than to clutter the official com-channel with playful banter; Jake's tone had made it clear that brevity was expected—no, required—in these moments of crisis. Before she could craft a suitably lighthearted yet cautionary reply, another notification signaled its arrival. Eva's digital retort popped up beside Jeffrey's, a beacon of practicality amidst the virtual jests. "Jeffrey, you're stupid, we didn’t bring any potato chips from Earth," Eva's message read, her digital chastisement mingling with an undertone of affection that only those who had intertwined their survival with camaraderie could fully comprehend. Becky allowed herself a brief respite to appreciate the resilience of their makeshift family, each personality a thread woven into the tapestry of their collective existence. With a few taps on her device, she dispatched acknowledgments to her fellow colonists, ensuring that levity would not undermine the severity of their predicament. As the relentless percussion of rain hammered against the module, Becky anchored herself in the moment, the weight of impending decisions pressing down upon her. She cast a calculating eye toward the com-panel, anticipating the flood of inquiries and concerns that would soon spill forth. Therein lay the challenge of leadership: navigating the delicate balance between maintaining morale and enforcing discipline among the stars' most unlikely pioneers. Her prediction proved prescient as the com-system crackled to life, severing the playful exchange like a blade through gossamer threads. A voice, stark against the backdrop of the relentless rain, cut through the module with the urgency of a siren's call. "Hey, Jake, the north wall of the dome collapsed, I can see it from my module." The words hung in the air, dense with implication. Becky's gaze snapped toward the window, the indestructible glass separating her from the chaos that raged outside. Her heart thrashed against her ribs, a desperate cadence that mirrored the onslaught of water bearing down upon their only sanctuary. In the space between breaths, Becky considered the enormity of the situation. The collapsed dome signified more than a breach in their defenses—it was a harbinger of potential calamity that could unravel the very fabric of their colony. She felt a surge of resolve crystallize within her, banishing the last vestiges of levity. "Orion," Becky addressed the AI, voice steady despite the turmoil that churned inside her. "Initiate a diagnostic on structural integrity. We need to assess whether any other section is compromised." "Affirmative, Becky," Orion replied, its synthetic tone devoid of the fear that gripped the human inhabitants of the command modules. With the precision of a chess grandmaster contemplating a critical move, Becky analyzed the possible outcomes, her strategic mind charting paths through the uncertainty. Each decision carried weight, each directive a potential lifeline or misstep in the delicate dance of survival. Rain lashed against the resilient glass of Becky's hatch window, a staccato rhythm that underscored the severity of the storm outside. She watched as rivulets of water traced serpentine paths down the pane, distorting her view of the tumultuous world beyond the safety of her command module. Inside, the soft glow of the console bathed her in an amber hue, casting elongated shadows on the walls. "It's okay, we'll fix it when the storm is over," Jake's voice, calm and measured, cut through the static of the com-system. "Let's get started with the meeting, save your question for after I'm done." Becky could visualize him standing tall amid the chaos, the faint constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks almost hidden beneath the seriousness of his expression. "First announcement is that I’ve decided how to assign the jobs. I know there’s been a rumor about a lottery, but we’re not doing that. I’m going to allow everyone to have the job they requested, and study in the field they want.” A pause filled the air like a held breath, thick with anticipation. Perhaps Jake sensed the undercurrent of side conversations buzzing through the network of tablets, the digital whispers of a generation poised on the cusp of their future roles within this nascent colony. Becky's tablet, resting beside her on the plush pile of blankets she had arranged earlier, vibrated with incoming messages. The screen lit up with a cascade of notifications, each beep signaling a new wave of excitement from her group members. She glanced at the flurry of texts flowing in, a symphony of elation in pixelated form. They conveyed joy in their ability to pursue the vocations they had longed for, the fields of study that sparked fires in their minds and hearts. "Can you believe it? No lottery!" one message gleamed, its words infused with relief. "Finally! I can focus on botany without worrying about ending up in sanitation," another chimed in, the gratitude palpable even through the cold interface of the device. "Engineering, here I come!" a third declared, exuberance punctuating every character. As the relentless rain continued to pummel the habitat, Becky felt a surge of hope swell within her chest. Jake's plan, devoid of the anticipated randomness and uncertainty, promised stability amidst the chaos—a foundation upon which they could build a thriving community. Each person granted the chance to contribute in ways that resonated with their deepest inclinations, a collective tapestry woven from individual threads of passion and expertise. With a faint smile, Becky acknowledged the messages with a quick tap of acknowledgment before turning her attention back to the com-panel, where the future of their colony was being shaped, word by careful word. Rain continued to cascade down the command module's window as Becky stood in silent contemplation, watching droplets race one another until they merged and disappeared from sight. Her fingers hovered above the tablet, hesitant to join the flurry of messages that zipped back and forth amongst her group. Their excitement was palpable, almost infectious, but Becky's mind was elsewhere, tangled in logistical conundrums. How would Jake orchestrate the distribution of labor when there were tasks no one yearned to undertake? Jake's voice filled the com-panel again. It carried the same calm, measured tone that Becky had come to associate with his deliberate manner of speech. "To do this, you're going to have to compromise," he asserted, addressing the colony with clarity and purpose. "There will be a duty roster that everyone rotates through. Orion is sending the duty roster now to the group leaders." Becky felt a twinge of curiosity, tinged with skepticism. A rotating duty roster? She pondered the implications, her mind racing through potential schedules, envisioning how each person might react to performing the less desirable jobs that kept their community functioning. She knew all too well the challenges that awaited them—balancing individual aspirations with the needs of the many. It was a solution that bore the hallmark of Jake’s analytical thinking—the same methodical approach that had served him well on the tennis courts and at countless science fairs. Yet even as she considered the practicality of the system he proposed, Becky couldn’t help but admire the elegance of the compromise. Each person would share the burden of the mundane, ensuring no one was relegated to an undesired fate while fostering a sense of unity and shared responsibility. As the rain's relentless drumming against the hull of the command module grew louder, Becky allowed herself a moment to entertain the notion that perhaps, under Jake's guidance, a semblance of order could emerge from the chaos that enveloped them. Her green eyes reflected a glint of newfound optimism as she waited for Orion to deliver the duty roster—an electronic missive that would chart their course through the days ahead. Becky's fingers hovered over the controls, a silent command to her AI companion. The rain's patter against the command module mingled with the distant roll of thunder, a natural symphony that underscored the gravity of their situation. Her gaze, sharp and focused, betrayed none of the swirling uncertainty that gripped her mind. "Orion," she called out, her voice cutting through the cabin's ambient noise, "do you have the roster?" The air in the space seemed to pause, waiting for the AI's response. A soft chime signaled its readiness before it spoke, the voice calm and devoid of concern. "Yes, Becky," replied her iteration of the Orion AI, a disembodied presence that had become as familiar to her as her own thoughts. Becky's finger lingered above the command panel, a silent sentinel in the dim glow of her module's interior. She cast a glance at the holographic display where the duty roster hovered, its contents as yet a secret to her peers. "Okay," she said, her voice resolute, "don't send it to my group yet, I want to look at it first." The com-system crackled back to life, and Jake's measured tone filled the space, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of his role. “The next announcement is about our schedule and group assignments,” he began. The soft light from Becky's console painted flickering shadows across her concentrated expression as she listened. “When I split everyone into groups, I did it consecutively in order of the modules, so everyone would be living next to their group members. I’m going to keep everyone in the groups you’re already in.” There was a sense of continuity in his words, a reassurance that amid the tempest's chaos, some semblance of order persisted. Becky appreciated the structure; it resonated with the systematic nature of her thoughts, the way she compartmentalized problems into solvable segments. Yet within her, doubt crept like an insidious shadow, whispering questions about the viability of Jake's plan. It was one thing to maintain order; it was another to cultivate growth and adaptability among the young minds entrusted to their care. As rain assaulted the indestructible glass with relentless fervor, Becky considered the challenges ahead, not just the logistics but also the human element—how to meld a collective of disparate personalities into a cohesive unit. Becky's attention shifted from the com-panel to her data tablet as it vibrated with a steady influx of messages. Her group's texts cascaded across the screen, a digital flurry of relief and contentment. They cherished the familiarity of their unit, the bond formed not by chance but through shared trials within these metal walls. A subtle smile graced Becky's lips; Jake's decision to maintain the current groups was a reassuring constant in their unpredictable existence. "Now, as for our daily schedule," Jake’s voice cut through the patter of rain against the hatch window. "Wake up is at six on the mark. The community dining hall will no longer host our morning or midday meals." A pause lingered, inviting their silent queries. "Each group will utilize the kitchenettes within your module for breakfast preparation. Afterward, at seven, school starts." His words, methodically chosen, painted a picture of regimented days ahead. Becky mused on how such structure might emulate the meticulous nature of her engineering processes—each step essential, building upon the last until a functional whole emerged. "Orion is creating the class schedules to align with your chosen fields of study." Jake’s announcement echoed through the modules, resonating with the promise of tailored learning—a necessary adaptation for their survival and growth. Becky's green eyes, usually reflecting a world of calculation and foresight, now flickered with anticipation. How would this new schedule harness the potential within each child, guiding them towards their aspirations in science, art, leadership? The relentless storm outside was but a backdrop to the burgeoning order within, a testament to their resilience. Becky knew that her role—beyond directing, beyond engineering—was to sculpt this raw communal clay into a vessel strong enough to carry them into tomorrow’s uncertain frontier. Becky shifted her gaze from the tablet's glowing screen to the control panel that housed Orion, their ever-watchful artificial intelligence. With a soft voice that barely rose above the patter of rain against the hatch window, she sought confirmation of their new routine. "Orion?" "Affirmative, Becky," the AI responded without delay, its synthesized voice smooth and devoid of inflection. "I already have our schedule." The digital cadence of Orion's reply was reassuring in its efficiency. Becky allowed herself a moment of appreciation for the machine's foresight; Orion's programming had always been a beacon of reliability amidst the chaos of human emotion and error. "Orion, delay the distribution," she instructed, her voice a low murmur lost amid the cacophony of rain battering against the module. "Let's allow Jake to conclude his address before we distribute the schedule." "Understood, Becky," Orion intoned with its unerring stoicism, the AI's compliance a silent sentinel in the background. Her gaze swept back to the window, watching rivulets snake their way down the glass, gravity’s artistry at work. It was a dance of droplets she'd observed countless times before, every storm bringing its unique tempo and rhythm. This time, however, it was different—the rain didn't just herald a change in weather but a shift in their entire existence. "Then," Jake's voice rang out from the com-system, cutting through the veil of rainfall with clarity, "you will eat lunch with your group in your modules." The announcement resonated within the confines of her command module, a simple decree that beckoned a complex ballet of logistics and camaraderie. Becky pondered the intricacies this new routine would weave into the fabric of their daily lives. Each module would become not just a sanctuary from the elements but a crucible for forging bonds and nurturing interdependence. From her vantage point, she could almost envisage the scene: groups gathered around tables, sharing sustenance and stories, the mundane act of eating lunch transforming into an intimate ritual of connection. Her mind, always attuned to the mechanics of how things worked, now contemplated the alchemy of human interaction within the strictures of survival. She pulled her attention away from the visual symphony outside and focused once more on the tablet. Messages from her charges blinked expectantly, awaiting her guidance. But Becky knew that leadership wasn't merely about issuing directives—it was about envisioning a future where each individual thrived as part of a greater whole. As the deluge outside continued to unfurl its relentless tapestry, Becky settled into her role with newfound resolve. There, within the heart of the storm and the soul of the colony, she stood ready to navigate the nexus of science and humanity. Becky's gaze lingered on the control panel, her mind awash with the potential complexities of the new routine. How would it all interlock—the schedules, the duties, the meals? Her introspection was a silent whirlpool, drawing in each detail and spinning it around until it fit into an orderly pattern. "School will end at 2 p.m., and everyone will head to their assigned job for that day per the duty roster," Jake's voice crackled over the com-system, cutting through the rhythmic patter of rain against the module. A glance outside showed the relentless cascade of water blurring the world into a watery tableau. Becky's fingers hovered above the tablet, poised to capture any salient detail that might slip from Jake's announcement into the ether. "At 6 p.m. we will all meet at the community dining area for dinner,” Jake continued. “You may eat with your group, or eat with other friends." Becky visualized the communal space, its utilitarian design now serving as a linchpin for their evolving society. In her mind's eye, she saw the clattering trays, the laughter, the shared experiences that would coalesce into a semblance of normalcy. "After dinner, the group leaders will collect two baskets that the kitchen staff has prepared." The words echoed in the stillness of her module, sparking a flurry of mental calculations about storage, distribution, and efficiency. "One basket will contain the supplies you need for breakfast, and the other basket the supplies you will need for lunch. You will bring the baskets back at the dinner meal to be refilled for the next day." The simplicity of the plan belied the intricacies of execution, but Becky felt a surge of quiet confidence. She knew how to distill chaos into order, how to align disparate elements into a cohesive structure. It was the essence of engineering—her realm, her passion. With the storm still unfurling its watery symphony outside, Becky turned her focus inward. Amid the fluctuating currents of this new life, her role had become clearer, crystallized by necessity and defined by the collective will to endure. Leaning against the cool metal of her command module's wall, Becky contemplated the plan unfurling like a schematic in her mind's eye. The interlocking parts, the synchronized schedules—it was a dance of logistics and comunal living that she had not anticipated from Jake. His voice crackled through the com-system, each syllable measured and clear despite the relentless battering of rain against the outer armor of her sanctuary. "Last announcement, and then I’ll take questions," Jake’s calm voice continued, cutting through the static of her ruminations. Becky straightened, her focus sharpening as the torrent of rain seemed to recede into a hushed backdrop. "George will be second in command of the colony." Becky’s gaze instinctively drifted toward George's module, envisioning him with his imposing stance, ready to shoulder the responsibility. "Cameron will be the Director of Education and Resource Allocation." Becky pursed her lips approvingly, Cameron with his insatiable intellect and analytical prowess was the logical choice. "Thomas will be Director of Health Services," Jake announced, and again, it was a good choice. Thomas's vibrant energy practically surged through the com, an undercurrent of excitement palpable even in the silence following his name. "And last assignment for tonight, Becky will be the Director of Science and Engineering." The words hung in the air, resonating in the cramped space that served as both her refuge and her workstation. "That’s all I’ve got for now, I’m unlocking the com-system, you may ask questions now." Stunned, Becky remained motionless, her breath caught in a liminal space between anticipation and uncertainty. Director of Science and Engineering—responsibility coalesced around her like an invisible mantle, gravity settling upon her shoulders with the weight of stars. The role entailed not just her expertise but leadership, a vision to navigate the uncharted terrain of their collective future. The rain's cadence played counterpoint to the quickening pulse of her heart, a rhythm of change and challenge that beckoned her forth from the safety of familiar calculations. She realized, with crystalline clarity, that the storm outside mirrored the tempest of possibility within. The com-panel erupted in a blaze of urgent light, each indicator a beacon of curiosity and concern. Questions cascaded through the airwaves, voices overlapping in a symphony of inquiry that persisted as the hours unfurled their relentless tapestry. Becky stood at the periphery of the chaos, her gaze fixed on the panel's frenetic display. The title 'Director of Science and Engineering' reverberated through the hollows of her mind, an echo that seemed to swell with every pulsating light. Around her, the cabin hummed with the energy of anticipation, the external storm a mere whisper against the clamor of youthful voices seeking clarity, seeking leadership. Her fingers twitched by her side, the familiar urge to retreat into the comforting embrace of data and diagnostics warring with the nascent realization of her role in this unscripted drama of survival. "Director of Science and Engineering" – the words were a riddle wrapped in enigma, a challenge that transcended the mere application of theoretical knowledge. In the silence of her thoughts, she wrestled with the implications, the enormity of guiding their scientific endeavors, of engineering a future from the scattered remnants of their past. Becky's introspection painted her stillness with shades of profundity; her eyes, those deep green wells of contemplation, absorbed the tableau before her—a tableau in which she was an unwitting centerpiece. Here was a chance to meld her passion with purpose, to harness the latent potential of a generation poised on the brink of greatness. Yet the gravity of expectation clung to her like the very raindrops that beaded on the indestructible glass of her module's hatch window. How could she, who so often grappled with the specter of self-doubt, rise to embody the confidence required of her new station? A stray thought flitted across her consciousness, a memory of her family's mantra etched into her very being: "Innovate or stagnate." It wasn't merely about finding solutions; it was about forging paths where none existed. And there, amidst the torrent of questions and the relentless downpour outside, Becky found the ember of determination that had always glowed within her, waiting for the breath of challenge to ignite it into flame. With a steadying exhale, she stepped closer to the com-panel, her voice ready to thread through the din, to assert her presence not just as an engineer, but as a leader among equals. The Director of Science and Engineering—what did it mean? Her portable tablet beeped incessantly, pulling her attention back to the moment. She looked down at the messages, the first one was from Jeffrey. “BECKY, HELP!” Becky’s heart skipped a beat as she quickly typed. “I’M COMING, HOLD ON!” The next message arrived as she was cycling open her hatch, fully intending to jump out into the flood and swim down to Jeffrey’s module. “He’s not in danger, he’s just stupid,” replied Eva. Becky’s eyes flicked up towards Jeffrey’s command module as water poured in from the flood, soaking her blanks and pillows. “What’s going on?” Becky typed. “Didn’t you hear Jeffrey talking to Jake?” Becky had to admit she hadn’t been listening, she’d been too shocked by Jake’s announcement making her the Director of Science and Engineering. “What happened?” Becky responded. “The idiot thought it would be funny to ask Jake if he could be in charge of potato chips. Jake said it was a great idea and just what he needed for the lunch meals. Jake said he wants the first shipment of potato chips in two weeks.” Becky sighed and cycled the hatch shut, an inch of water swirling around her feet. She understood what happened. Jeffery had been goofing off, but Jake had taken it serious because there was a huge surplus of potatoes they were worried about going bad before they could be used. Potato chips would be an excellent solution, and not too difficult to make. The tablet beeped again. “Then mushroom brain said he couldn’t make that many potato chips, so Jake said no problem, we’ll make it your group’s extra duty and we’d be exempt from garbage and sewage duty as long as we’re producing potato chips. Now everyone is arguing that it’s not fair and trying to find something they can do to get exempt from garbage and sewage duty.” Becky tapped out a response. “Too late now, we’re making potato chips. Eva, check with Orion how to make potato chips.” Becky turned away from the hatch and went to find a mop to start cleaning up the water on the floor.