In the days that followed, Chase watched as the morning meetings became the foundation of their daily rhythm. By 7 a.m., everyone gathered for coffee, a ritual that had quickly evolved into an open forum for cross-team discussions. Each morning, he and Janette moved from group to group, clarifying priorities and ensuring every crew member understood their role. Chase observed how Janette carefully structured the roster, balancing individual tasks with the overarching needs of the mission.

  The coffee meeting became more than just a moment to unwind. It was a thread stitching the crew together. Despite the vastness of the train and the relentless demands of their assignments, this shared pause created a tangible sense of unity. With no true sunrise or sunset on Mars, the team collectively decided to follow Earth time, a choice reinforced by September and the Mission Control as they were unable to change the time on the clock. It served a practical purpose, aligning VORN’s scheduling with ideal viewing hours, but Chase saw something deeper in the decision, an effort to preserve their connection to home. Still, despite the system already being in place, he asked Martin to examine the code controlling the clocks. Understanding how things worked was not just a curiosity for Chase. It was an essential part of of what they needed to understand to survive on Mars.

  Martin was one of the most animated members of the crew. His coding skills were exceptional, yet he never questioned Janette's directives. Although he had not volunteered for the Mars mission, he approached it with buoyant enthusiasm, as if arriving on Mars were a cherished prize.

  After finishing his coffee and preparing for the day ahead, Martin paused and turned to the main screen. In a loud and playful tone he announced, "Okay Mission Control, sending me to Mars is a pretty harsh move even if I might have volunteered! Now let us get to what matters most: baseball. I love baseball. You cannot send me to a new world without having a baseball game ready. It would only be fair to show me a game, ideally one where the Red Sox win the World Series!"

  When the screen remained unchanged, Martin tried again. "September, can you hear me?" he called.

  "Martin Johns, I can hear you anywhere within the train," replied September.

  "Alright, show me the Major League Baseball schedule. I hope I have not missed too much," Martin said.

  "Martin Johns, I do not have access to baseball scores," September replied.

  "Really? Can you ask Mission Control to update you with current baseball information like videos, highlights and statistics?" Martin pressed.

  "Request logged. However, Commander Chase must approve it before I can forward your request," came the reply.

  Before Martin could protest further, Chase interjected, "Approved."

  Trying to keep the mood light, Martin added, "Maybe you can reroute a few wires and let me in. I did some hacking in college."

  "Martin Johns, my programming does not allow unauthorized modifications including accessing Mission Control," the September replied firmly.

  Martin shook his head, frustrated yet amused. He loved baseball and could not imagine life without the game. The thought of missing scores and highlights simply would not do.

  ----

  Later, in his quarters, Chase reviewed the day’s progress. The team was beginning to find its rhythm on Mars, even though their long-term future remained uncertain. One nagging thought kept recurring: why would September, the gatekeeper of both his commands and the VORN program, deny him system access or allow him to write code? He reminded himself that September was an AI, not a person, and its role was to enforce protocols. In many ways, he felt torn between resisting and relying on the very system he distrusted. This internal conflict weighed heavily on him.

  Hoping to shift his focus, he commanded, "September, locate Kaya and ask her to come here with her datapad."

  "Kaya is currently in the kitchen. I have alerted her, Commander," came the reply.

  "Did you instruct her to bring her datapad?"

  "No, Commander. Since you are not authorized to code, that directive was omitted."

  Chase paused, noting the subtlety in September's response. The AI had deduced his intent but deliberately filtered out the order that did not match its protocols. Accepting this as part of the system’s design, Chase continued, "September, amend Kaya's standing orders so that she always carries her datapad."

  "Standing orders amended," the AI confirmed

  Curious, Chase then asked, “September, how are you picking up my voice? I don’t see any microphones.”

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  “This is restricted information, Commander.”

  “Who has access to that information?”

  “Not you, Commander. If you lack access, then someone of your intellect should understand I cannot advise on who does.”

  “There’s never a stupid question, September.”

  A brief pause, and a rueful thought: there were many stupid questions, and Chase knew all too well how quick his own mind was to jump to conclusions. He began pacing his quarters; an upcoming task loomed, one that involved electric shocks, something he wasn’t particularly fond of but thought testing was necessary.

  A knock at the door startled him. Kaya entered, saying, “Commander, you requested me?”

  “Yes, Kaya,” Chase replied formally. “Please place your data pad on the table, unlocked and displaying the code. Then, move to the other side of the room.”

  Kaya’s voice wavered with concern. “Commander, are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Do it, Kaya. This is an order,” he said sternly.

  Instead of complying immediately, Kaya stared at him. Then, with measured intensity she replied, “You order me as if I were a disobedient child. I’m not sure of the relationship you think we have, Commander Chase, but you needn’t treat me like that. If you want something from me, ask nicely, and I will gladly comply.”

  Her gaze remained fixed on him, the tension in the room palpable.

  Chase stepped back, shocked by Kaya’s reaction, and worried a second slap might follow. “Sorry, Kaya, I only meant for you to place your data pad on the table. I was going to check the code to see if it would shock me. I chose my words poorly. I apologize.”

  Kaya hesitated before carefully opening her data pad, and setting it on the table. Sensing what was coming, she moved back.

  “Commander, remember that you are not permitted to access the systems,” came September’s measured reply. “I have made this order clear, and any breach will have negative consequences.”

  Chase snapped, “September, if I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

  The AI’s tone remained calm. “My primary directive is to keep you alive, Commander. Electricity affects even healthy individuals in unpredictable ways. I repeat: do not attempt to access the systems.”

  Undeterred, Chase casually picked up the data pad. To his surprise, nothing happened—no shock, no pain. He had braced himself for agony, expecting to crumple in a heap. Instead, he began scanning the code, which at first appeared routine for the rover’s lighting systems. Yet as he read on, he marveled at the intricate encryption in every line. Intrigued, he swiped to the next page.

  Then, without warning, searing pain erupted through his body. Every fiber ignited as if on fire. Though the shock lasted only seconds, it stretched into an eternity. Gasping, he cried, “September, what did you put inside me?”

  "Commander, it is a GPS tracker," the AI said evenly. "The tracker can deliver an electrical pulse, as you know."

  "And what is the battery life?" Chase pressed. "How long until it runs out?"

  "With normal use, it lasts sixty years, Commander," September explained calmly. "However, I estimate that your effective battery life will be reduced to fifteen years because of roughly twelve electrical shocks during that period. WiFi charging is available, so your battery will not fail."

  Chase muttered a curse under his breath while Kaya looked on from across the room with clear exasperation.

  "September, who else has these controllers implanted?" Kaya demanded. "I expect we have all been tied down in the same way."

  "That information is classified," the AI replied curtly.

  "Come over here and review the code with me," Chase ordered.

  Kaya slowly approached and took a seat at the table at a safe distance. "Chase, if you choose to risk electrocution, that is your decision. But I do not want to be caught in harm's way by accident," she cautioned.

  She picked up her own data pad and began cycling through the code as Chase leaned over her shoulder. He marveled at what he considered a masterpiece, a work of encrypted brilliance that was safe to view, though not meant for alteration.

  "Remove the second line of code and replace it with 'September is annoying,'" Chase instructed.

  The moment Kaya executed the change and ran the code, a surge of agony shot through Chase. The pain was overwhelming, far more than he could bear. Through gritted teeth, the AI announced, "Commander, the next shock will increase by thirty percent. Do not attempt to access or modify the system further."

  "September, unless I specifically direct otherwise, please remain silent," Chase ordered.

  Despite the pain, he noted a small victory: he could review the code even if he could not modify it freely. Kaya shook her head slowly, her eyes drifting upward in silent reproach. "Please stop this, Chase. The AI will continue to electrocute you. You do not know whether your heart can handle these jolts," she pleaded.

  Chase merely nodded, clearly disinterested in further shocks.

  "Rest easy, Kaya. That was the last shock for today, at least. I am sorry you had to be a part of this," he murmured in a hushed tone, as if sharing a secret. "Understanding our weaknesses is crucial to winning any game and I didn’t want to do this in front of the whole crew."

  Kaya rested her hand on his shoulder.

  "It is not a weakness to be unable to access the system. That is why you have us, Commander."

  With a sly grin, Chase slipped a small piece of paper into her hand.

  "Read this in your quarters. Tuck it away where only you can see it."

  Kaya left his quarters filled with a swirl of emotions: fear, sadness, loneliness, and even confusion. Still, she maintained a controlled expression and rolled her eyes as if to dismiss the inner turmoil. Determined to always remain in charge, she reminded herself that true leadership requires calm even while her view of those around her shifted constantly. She recognized Chase’s intellect despite his immaturity, and she sensed that the system’s restrictions wounded him deeply. He despised rules, yet constant surveillance left little room for bypassing them.

  Back in her own room, Kaya tossed her data pad on the bed and headed for the bathroom. Following his instructions, she slipped the note beneath her top and began to read. In messy handwriting, the note said:

  "Replace the second line of code with 'September is annoying.'”

  After hesitantly confirming the change on her pad and running the updated code, Kaya strolled down the hall toward Chase’s quarters. She meant to check on him, worried that an increased shock might leave him rattled, but she maintained her composure. Near his door, she resisted the urge to swing it open and instead knocked gently before entering.

  There, seated at his table with an irreverent grin, Chase remarked,

  "We all have weaknesses, Kaya."

  She returned his conspiratorial wink with a sharp smile.

  "Yes, Chase, it is clear that you have plenty."