Draft 2

Day 6, Transit to Charon Outpost, Med-Bay

The Med-Bay was a sterile white sanctuary compared to the rest of the gritty bio-hauler.

Helen lay on the examination table, while Unit Seven hovered around, scanning the medical equipment with suspicious intensity.

Janet, dressed in blue scrubs, stood at the console, tapping commands into her datapad as the automated bio-scanner ran its routine. The scanner, a crescent-shaped device attached to a mechanical arm, swept over Helen’s body. It paused over her arm and quickly extracted a tiny vial of blood before retracting into the wall. Janet took the vial and slotted it into the refrigerated centrifuge.

“Madam, your resting heart rate suggests you are preparing for imminent physical combat,” Seven said. “Shall I engage defense protocols?”

Janet chuckled. “There’s no combat in the Med-Bay, Seven. Power down for a minute so the humans can talk, alright?”

“I will enter standby mode. But I advise against letting her poke you with any sharp instruments, Madam. Statistically, medical errors account for—”

“Thank you, Seven,” Helen said. “You can stand by.”

The drone’s optic dimmed, and his rotors hummed at a low idle as he settled onto the medical counter next to the bio-scanner’s docking port.

“I don’t know how you put up with him.” Janet stepped next to the table as the scanner finished its exam. “He’s like a flying, metallic mother-in-law.”

“He keeps me sharp. Besides, I kinda like him. He keeps me company.” Helen sat up. “So what’s the verdict?”

Janet looked over the datapad. “Good. Your blood pressure and heart rate are a little high, but that’s probably from white coat syndrome. Lots of people have that reaction. Otherwise, everything is fine. I’m logging this as your official baseline. Physically, you are the healthiest engineer I’ve seen on this rust bucket.” Janet set the datapad down and leaned against the counter. “But how are you doing mentally? That rushed launch at Luna Hub was a nightmare.”

Helen shifted uncomfortably on the exam table. “I’m fine. Just tired. The secondary coolant valves have been acting up since we broke orbit, and the pressure buildup in Vent Network Three is going to require me to bypass the thermal relays before we hit Charon Outpost.”

Janet tilted her head. “I didn’t ask about the ship’s coolant lines. I asked about you.”

Helen shrugged. “It’s just a lot of pressure.”

“It is,” Janet said. “And John? He’s been carrying the weight of the ship on his shoulders, trying to keep the Omni-Corp suits happy. But how are you doing with him?”

Thoughts of John and Ingrid filled her mind, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to sound jealous or paranoid. “John is just doing his job. He’s stressed, but we’re fine. Once we hit Charon and top off the tanks, things will settle down.”

“Just remember, Helen, you can’t fix a marriage with a hydrospanner. You have to actually talk to him. My door is always open if you need an ear.”

“Thanks, really.” Helen hopped off the table. She picked up Seven, slipping his dormant body into the breast pocket of her jumpsuit. “But we’re okay.”

***

Later that evening, Captain’s Quarters

Helen and John’s shared quarters were cramped, roughly the size of a large closet with a desk and a bathroom, but it was the one place on the ship that felt like theirs.

Helen was sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking over the blueprints for the ship’s primary grid. Taped to the bulkhead right beside her pillow was a printed photograph of a salvage ship, a beautiful vessel that didn’t have Omni-Corp’s logo stamped anywhere on its hull.

The door slid open, and John stepped inside.

He looked exhausted as he unfastened the collar of his command uniform.

Unit Seven, currently resting on the desk, fixed his blue eye on John. “Captain Mitchell, your bio-rhythms indicate a massive spike in stress hormones, accompanied by acute fatigue. Shall I contact Medical Officer Wilson?”

“No need for that, Seven, but I appreciate you looking out for him,” Helen said. “I’m going to take care of him tonight. Could you engage your visual and audio privacy filters, please?”

“Privacy mode engaged.” Seven rotated to face the bulkhead. “Visual and audio sensors are now locked. Sleep well, Captain.”

“Thanks, Seven,” John said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “God, I’m sorry, Helen. I know I was riding you hard today, but I don’t want to hit the Dead Zone behind schedule. They’ll dock our pay by thirty percent.”

Helen put the blueprints aside and moved closer. “You don’t need to apologize. I know how much pressure you’re under.”

He reached up and gently stroked her cheek. “I just hate treating you like one of the crew when we’re out there. I hate seeing you exhausted.”

“I’m an engineer. Exhausted is in my job description.” Helen smiled and nodded toward the photograph taped to the wall. “Besides, we both know why we’re doing this. Fourteen months. We deliver the terraforming kits, collect the hazard payout, and we buy the salvage ship. We are done with Omni-Corp forever.”

John looked at the picture. “I’ve got it handled, I promise. Just let me worry about the corporate suits, okay? I want to get us out of this grind just as badly as you do.”

Helen leaned in and kissed him. The kiss deepened.

“It’s just you and me against this rust bucket,” John said against her lips.

“Just you and me,” she whispered back.

He pulled her down onto the mattress, and the overwhelming vastness of the ship faded away into the dark.

***

03:00 Ship Time, Corridors & The Bridge

Helen woke to the rhythmic vibration of the slip-drive. She reached her hand out across the sheets, seeking the warmth of her husband.

The bed was cold. The digital clock on the wall read 03:00. John was gone.

She sat up. He was probably just restless. The corporate deadlines always gave him insomnia. Figuring he was either on the bridge running diagnostics or pacing the mess hall, Helen slipped into her jumpsuit, zipped it up, and walked out into the corridor.

She stopped by the mess hall first. It was empty. She went to the synthesizer, punched in a quick sequence, and waited as the machine dispensed two cups of coffee: one black sludge for her, and one with synthetic cream, just the way John liked it.

Carrying the two cups, Helen made her way down the forward corridor toward Flight Command.

As she approached, she stopped. The blast-proof cockpit door was sealed shut. The locking mechanism beside the frame glowed a solid red.

Helen frowned. It wasn’t standard protocol to lock the bridge doors during transit unless there was a navigational hazard.

She stepped closer and peered through the door’s window.

Inside, the bridge was bathed in the blue glow of the navigation monitors. John was standing at the dual-console. Beside him was Ingrid.

They weren’t doing anything scandalous. They were just looking at a telemetry readout together. But they were standing so close, their shoulders nearly brushing as they leaned over the screen. Ingrid’s hand was moving on the keyboard as John pointed to something on the display, his head tilting toward hers.

Then, John said something Helen couldn’t hear, but it made Ingrid laugh. She hadn’t heard John pull a laugh like that out of anyone in weeks, but this was a woman he used to be in love with.

An ugly pang of jealousy twisted like a blade in her stomach. Just a few hours ago, John had been in her arms, telling her it was just the two of them. Now, he was locked away in the dark, sharing the night shift with his ex-flame.

Helen stared through the glass. She could have punched in her override code and walked in. She was his wife. She had every right to hand him the coffee and ask what was so funny. But her instinct was to shut down.

She turned her back on the red light of the locked door and walked back to the mess hall. She dumped both cups of coffee down the recycler drain and headed to the lower decks of Engineering, burying herself in the one thing she knew she could control.