Kate Day - In the Quick

He watched me intently. He motioned to his face. You look a little like your uncle, he said. The set of your mouth—

I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

How did you get the scars? I pointed to his neck and his knee.

Probably the same as you. He nodded at the spray of pink spots around my right eye.

Getting hit in the face with debris in a depressurized cargo hold?

Something like that. He sat up, slowly swung his legs over the side of the table.

A pair of crutches rested against one of the walls and I handed them to him.

Thanks. His slight smile was back.

You’re welcome.

He leaned on his crutches; the curls at his temples had dried and they fell across his face. We stood there looking at each other for a minute. The room was very quiet, very still. We were the only two people here. The only two people for miles and miles.

I need to tell you something, I said.

Okay.

The Sundew and Inquiry use the same liquid waste disposal system.

Wait. He frowned. What?

It has to be vented manually. With four people using it, about every three days.

He leaned away from me on his crutches. Why are you telling me this?

They’re alive, I said. The Inquiry crew. I came here to tell you.

His lip twitched. The patter of silt came from the roof above us.

When the fuel cell is ready we can go get them, I said, and felt a soaring lightness in my chest.

It’s not going to be ready.

You told NSP you were close to a solution.

The expression on his face was strange. I lied.

Why would you do that?

So they wouldn’t send us home.

You and Theresa.

Yes.

But Amelia and Simon said—

Amelia and Simon. His voice was bitter; his bandaged foot swung slightly in the air. What do they know about it?

They helped invent it—

The fuel cell can’t be fixed, he interrupted. I know because I’ve spent the last six years trying.

The next morning I woke with a leaden ache behind my eyes. My mouth was dry and still tasted of salt; my back molars smarted. I wanted water but my body was heavy in the bed. My thoughts were heavy too, slow moving, gloomy. I missed the Sundew, and Amelia and Simon and Rachel, and maybe more than anything else, the work. I knew how to do those jobs, fix that equipment, load and unload those crates, but I didn’t know how to do what I needed to do here.

I hadn’t seen James since we were together in the medical bay; once I returned to my bunk I slept through the afternoon and night. Now I recalled his face when I told him about Inquiry, the way it seemed to close in on itself. Maybe I’d made a mistake coming here. He wasn’t the person I remembered from Peter Reed; something had happened to him in the meantime.

I roused myself from the bed and dressed slowly. Tights, T-shirt, socks, sneakers. At the sink I washed my face and my skin was dull and rubbery under my fingers. Outside my room my body was like a stone I had to push forward with each step. The path was dark and narrow and the blue runner lights glowed faintly. I hit a dead end. I was lost again and I kicked the wall.

Doubling back I went from one corridor to the next, in and out of faint blue light and smudgy darkness, into air that was cool and then hot, and then cool again. Then a sound broke the silence. A moan? I blinked, rubbed my face. I called out, tentatively, James?

The corridor was a gray-blue cave of panels and cabinets. No doors. The largest cabinet was at the dead end and it looked like it was for storing suits. I tried its latch—it was locked. I ran my hand over the cabinet door, felt a slight vibration, pressed my ear to it, and heard a hum. Then—a movement of air, a slight draft against my skin. But the crack between the door and the wall revealed nothing but darkness.

When I finally found the galley, a room with a low ceiling and dusty yellow lights, James was there, drinking coffee and writing in a notebook. His hair appeared freshly washed and instead of his jumpsuit he wore a clean white T-shirt and sweats. One shoe on his uninjured foot.

He watched me slowly open cabinets and drawers packed with food and supplies. I discovered enough oatmeal, egg powder, and dried beans in one cabinet to feed a crew of twenty for a year. In another, at least a hundred pounds of vacuum-packed beef and fish jerky. Also huge sacks of sugar and coffee, and packages of dried vegetables and fruit—apples, bananas, raisins, carrots, peas, yams.

After the thin provisions on the Sundew I was dazed by the quantity and variety of the food. I found a glass and drank some water, still staring at the cans and containers of food. Then I reconstituted a packet of dried milk, scooped some cereal into a bowl, and sat down across from James.

But when I looked at my food my stomach turned.

It’s the silt, he said. The next morning it’s rough. His voice was easier than it had been the night before. He got up, balanced on his good foot, and poured coffee into another mug.

I raised my spoon and lowered it without taking a bite.

He held himself steady with the back of my chair. Drink this. He handed me the mug and his skin had a soapy smell.

I don’t drink coffee.

Today you should.

I took a sip. It tasted terrible.

He grabbed his notebook and his crutches and hopped to the door. I thought he was going to leave but he didn’t. He leaned in the doorway, his bandaged foot hovering an inch above the floor.

Keep drinking, he said.

After more sips from the mug my limbs started to feel lighter, my head clearer. I managed a bite of cereal. The pain in my back molars had returned so I chewed on the left side.

So what’s the plan? I asked. Are there daily checklists or what?

I’ve got to haul water tanks.

I gestured to his foot. How are you going to do that?

You’re going to help me I guess.

Good. I spooned cereal into my mouth until my bowl was empty. What did you do to life support? I asked. It’s a system I know, but when I opened up the box it’s completely rewired. And the ducts are silent—

I made it better.

How?

You’re not actually interested in that.

I am.

He showed me the modifications he’d made to the life support system, moving down the corridors slowly with his crutches, and how the station’s power supply worked—a snaking system of conduits that drew power from the solar fields. And a smaller-scale molten salt battery system that had been a pilot project when the Gateway was established. I’d worked on a similar project at Peter Reed and I wanted to see how he’d dealt with the heat transfer issues we’d experienced in the lab.

But something simpler demanded our attention—the sink in the laundry module had a leak. We gathered the tools we needed and spread some towels on the floor. It was a tight squeeze to get at the pipes because they were installed behind a filtration unit, and the smell of laundry detergent and plastic piping filled my nose as I wriggled behind the drum filter. James leaned over the top of the sink, his weight on his good foot.

I tightened the valves first and they squeaked as I turned my wrench. The last time I’d done a job like this I had zero gravity to contend with. This was much easier, although more than once I absentmindedly tried to press the wrench to my pant leg where a strip of Velcro would have been.

I asked him to run the water and the leak lessened but didn’t stop. Do you have a basin wrench?

Hold on. I heard the rattle of him digging in the tool kit.

But tightening the base nut did nothing.

James unscrewed the faucet and pointed a flashlight into the cabinet below. I blinked in the bright light. I know the leak isn’t in my eye.