Kate Day - In the Quick

Pink silt swirled in the rover’s headlights as it approached the complex, a jumble of gray modules in an expanse of uneven ground. A door opened in one of the modules, and my driver slowly pulled the rover into a dark cargo bay. I put my helmet on and climbed out.

Bits of rose-colored dust blew against my legs and tapped on my helmet as the rover pulled away. The door closed behind it and the dust fell to the ground. I turned on my headlamp and shadows rose up. Except for two parked rovers on one side and a heap of disassembled parts at the back, the bay was nearly empty. It reminded me of the cargo holds on the Sundew before a shipment arrived, when they were vast and echoing.

Ahead of me was an airlock and I stepped inside. A small circle of white light appeared in its porthole. It got larger—someone with a flashlight approached along a corridor. The light grew nearer and then stopped. I waved through the window. Behind the flashlight was a dark shape.

Finally I heard the click of the locking mechanism and the air pressurized around me. When the door opened the light was in my eyes; I raised my hand in front of my face. Then the flashlight lowered and revealed a young man in a dirty gray jumpsuit. A lean body and an angular face, keen eyes. Hair that curled over his ears. James.

Memories rose up in my mind of James and my uncle, their heads bent together over a table littered with metal shapes. James in a blue Candidate’s uniform running on the track at Peter Reed. In the office he shared with Theresa, his hair wild and his eyes tired, my pneumatic hand drawings spread out before him on his desk.

I took off my helmet and the air was salty, and also sweet.

It’s June, I said.

He ran a hand over a dark patch of stubble on his cheek.

Peter Reed’s niece, I said.

Right.

Where is everyone? I squinted down the dark corridor. Sleeping?

Last maintenance crew left and the next hasn’t arrived yet.

You’re here by yourself?

A beeping sound came from above us. For a couple of days, he said, speaking over the sound.

What about Theresa—

A wailing alarm joined the beeping; behind us the airlock slid shut with a thunk.

Damn it. He started to stalk away.

I followed him. What is it?

We’re on low power. It keeps tripping the life support alarm.

Why?

The system thinks we’re running out of oxygen—

No why are you on low power?

Busted solar panels.

I can help fix them.

He turned around and didn’t say anything. He just looked at me from behind his flashlight, and I had a strange sensation that the light was holding me, pinning me in place.

He lowered the flashlight finally. No need. He gestured down an open airlock. Bunks are that way. Then he turned to walk in the other direction and the light went with him.

Soon the corridor was completely dark. On the wall was a switch; it worked. A dim trail of blue lights appeared along the floor.

His voice came from far off: If you want to eat or drink—or breathe—in the morning, I’d shut that off.

I need a light—

Behind you.

I ran my hand along the wall again and found a flashlight, turned it on, and walked in its small circle of light, looking into empty rooms and dark airlocks. The Gateway was sprawling and irregularly laid out. Some sections appeared brand-new. The plastic walls of the modules were bright white, the corridors wider and cooler. My footsteps echoed slightly there. Other parts were clearly older, built in an earlier era. Those corridors were dark and narrow and smelled like old air filters. Their tan walls muffled sound. Rooms were connected at odd angles; there were step-ups and step-downs in unexpected places, and I stumbled several times.

I tried to recall my uncle’s drawings to get my bearings but I saw no correlation between the shapes I had in my mind and the snaking corridors in front of me. At a dead end I backtracked and opened airlocks. Behind one was another corridor, even darker than the one I’d been in. The portholes were smaller and thicker here, and the air was hot and close. I bumped along until I found a room with beds inside.

It was empty of anything except four beds, four storage cabinets, and a sink with a mirror above it. I dropped my bag on the floor and slowly pulled my arms out of my suit with a feeling of relief. My limbs ached from its weight, and my elbows and knees were slow to bend. I leaned onto the bed to extricate my legs. The pain in my molars had settled into a diffuse ache at the back of my jaw.

The mattress on the bed was wider than any I’d slept in for a long time. I wanted to lie down but worried if I did I wouldn’t be able to get back up again. I grabbed a fresh T-shirt, pushed my locker under the bed, and went back into the corridor. With my flashlight I found what appeared to be a central module, with a small galley and a laundry. The portholes were larger here and the sky a dark blank outside. It was oddly quiet. The Sundew was always full of sound, whirring and blowing and beeping. The vents here were nearly silent. Cool, moist air drifted from them without a sound.

In the corridor next to the galley I opened doors. All the modules behind them were empty, except for one, a workshop that contained a large table and shelves full of tools. Strewn across the table were pieces of something—

The suck and hiss of an airlock came from down the corridor, and I moved quickly in the direction of the sound, back toward the cargo bay where I’d started, at least I thought so. James stood at the end of the corridor. He was climbing into a suit, slimmer and more compact than the one I’d worn here and the ones I was used to on the Sundew.

Where are you going? I asked.

South solar field.

There were more suits hanging on the wall. One was smaller than the others and I grabbed it from its hook. I’ll come.

I’m fine on my own. Stay here.

I’d rather work.

He held his helmet against his broad chest and looked at me, and again I had the strange feeling of being pinned in place.

I’ll be handier than you think, I said.

He pulled on his gloves, secured them at his wrists. I see you haven’t changed.

So you do remember me.

I remember a scrawny girl who used to sit reading books she didn’t understand in Peter’s lab.

I remember a man with short hair and clean clothes.

He smiled slightly and put on his helmet. I did the same. He opened the airlock and I followed.

I understood those books, I said, my voice tinny inside my helmet.

Inside the rover James pressed some buttons and the cargo bay door opened onto darkness. He turned on the headlights—they made the ground outside sparkle—and the rover rolled forward onto the pink silt. Our seats were close and as the rover bumped over the uneven ground I held my body straight, my helmet in my lap.

He accelerated toward a ridge and the wind picked up. There was complete darkness in every direction except for the one the headlights were pointed in, and it seemed as if we were climbing up and down the hills of silt nearly blind. How did he know we weren’t about to fall off a ridge or drive into another? I looked at him. His beard was patchy and uneven; there were dark circles under his eyes. Amelia had thought it was a good idea for me to come here, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Silt hit the windows in waves, buffeting the rover to the left and then the right. I secured my restraints. He left his off. The sound of the wind was low and loud, SHOWWW, SHOWWW.

How far is the field? I asked over the muffled roar.

About thirty minutes.

What else does it power? I held on to the side of the rover as we skidded across a rocky plateau. In the distance was a dark shape.