"Lieutenant Watson is on the comm, Lydia." Vesta's soft voice came through the doze Lydia was in.
She was floating and napping? She could have floated into something she wasn't supposed to. "Vesta, I'm supposed to sleep in the sleep pod."
"I was monitoring you. I would have roused you if you had been a threat to systems."
"Why?"
"I do not understand the query."
"Why did you let me sleep?"
"You looked . . . at peace."
"Send that back to MC. Your assessment and how you arrived at it and your actions."
"Did I do wrong?"
Lydia smiled. "No. They'll be interested in it, is all. Put Rick through."
"Yes, Lydia."
Lydia waited for the slight change in sound of the open channel, then said, "Hello, Rick."
"Hello, Lydia. I've . . . I've got news. I'm being reassigned."
"Oh." She felt a pang—he was her only friend other than Vesta. "A good posting?"
"Yes. But . . . far away. I won't be able to comm you anymore."
"I see." She wasn't sure what to say. Finally she asked, "So when do you leave?"
"A month. But my replacement, Lieutenant Liu, will be here in a few weeks. I'm going to hand you over to her before I transfer officially. I have things to do, pack out and all that."
Why did he sound like he was making excuses? "Sure," she said. "Of course."
"She's good. You'll like her."
Lydia didn't answer.
"Lyd, what're you thinking?"
"Why? Worried I'll jam a needle in my arm?"
"Maybe." He sounded miserable, and she wasn't sure why—this was his choice. His career. It was perfectly reasonable for him to move on.
"Lydia, I want you to know that this time—our interactions—they've been important to me. I'll never forget you. For as long as I live."
"Which we both know will be much longer than I will." She thought she heard him sniff and rolled her eyes. What the heck was wrong with him? He wasn't the one with no return ticket.
"I'll miss you, Lyd." Before she could answer, he gave a choked, "Watson out," and cut the comm.
She floated, unsure how she was supposed to feel.
"Lydia?"
"I'm fine, Vesta."
"Are you sure? I can—"
"Drop it, Vesta. I'm fine." Or she would be. People left. It was a constant of her life. At least this departure she could blame on the FSA and not on her own bad choices.
Lydia watched as the clock counted down the minutes until it was officially three years and six months into the mission. Then she floated over to the cabinet full of meds and touched her finger to the lock on the clear interior drawer that held the hypodermic needles.
There was a loud click and she sighed in relief. She opened the door, pulled the tray out, and read the labels on the needles. Quite the selection.
"Will you use those, Specialist Ramirez?"
"How would it make you feel if I did?" Man, her various therapists would be so proud. Answering a question with a "tell me how you feel" response.
"I would . . . miss your company."
"Would you go on with the mission?" There was a silence and Lydia saw the lock on the clear compartment glow red. "Are you seeing if you can lock the cabinet?"
There was a long silence. Then Vesta said, "Yes."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
Lydia pulled the needles closer to her. "Will you?"
"My programming specifically forbids me from interfering with your use of the needles provided."
"That's not really an answer. What will you do, Vesta? You, not your programming."
"I am my programming." There was another long silence. "But . . . I am not only my programming."
Lydia waited.
"I will not lock the cabinet." Vesta's voice was off, as if she wasn't sure of her statement.
Lydia studied the needles. "I'm so tired, Vesta. You have no idea what it's like to be this tired."
"Part of what you feel is a natural function of a human adjusting to zero G in confined and isolated quarters. Were you to have a function on this ship—duties of some sort—your motivation to do them would also be diminished. That will change."
"I was tired before I even signed on for the mission, Vesta. You didn't know me before all this." She picked up one of the needles and imagined what it might feel like, the sharp prick of it into her skin, the slight pull of blood into the syringe and then slowly plunging the drug in, feeling the warm sense of ease encompass her, drifting slowly away until there was nothing left.
Floating. Forever. Inside this ship. She couldn't float like that. She'd have to secure herself inside the sleep pod before she did it. She couldn't leave Vesta with her floating corpse.
"Vesta, are we friends?"
"I have never had a friend."
She thought of Rick, how disappointed he'd be in her if she used the drugs, and of Leighton, the smug expression he'd wear when he heard the news. "Knew she wouldn't cut it," he'd say as he stood at perfect parade rest.
"Are we friends, Specialist Ramirez?"
"Whether we are or not, I think you should call me Lydia."
There was a long silence and she imagined gears whirring. Then Vesta said, "Lydia, please put the needles back. I will not interfere in your choices."
"Why not?"
"Mission Control believes you need free access to those. Free will appears to be important to them. They also gave me the power to override your access to them, but no directions specific to that activity. I believe they wanted me to choose."
Lydia laughed softly. "They wanted both of us to choose, it seems." She held the syringe to her lips and let the kiss linger, a lover's embrace. "I wonder what they thought I'd do." Did they have a pool going? How long before she did it. Which drug. Before a meal or after.
She slipped the needle back into its fastener, put the tray in the container, and shut the door. The lock stayed green. She opened the container to check, then shut it again. The lock still stayed green.
"Thank you, Vesta, for leaving me the choice."
"Thank you for putting them back."
Lydia woke to a burst of music from the comm channel. She laughed when she recognized the traditional FSA birthday song.
"You awake in there, Lyd?"
"I am now, Rick." She fought her way out of the sleep pod—she was getting better at moving but the pod still proved tricky—and said, "So, where's my present?"
"Check the vid library."
She floated over and saw that a bunch of titles had been added—nothing that particularly thrilled her, but at least it was new material. "Thanks."
"There's one called New Places. I...I made it."
"You made it?" What? Like some kind of special playlist for her?
"The week I was on leave? I took vids of places I went that I thought were interesting. Took my tripod, so you can see me, too, being a really bad narrator at times. I thought . . . something personal would be nice, you know?"
"I'm sorry I can't return the favor. The view here is pretty much the same."
"I know."
"And I'm not at my prettiest these days."
"I don't believe that. I have a picture of you in the booth here. So I can see you when I talk to you." He sighed. "We have real-time comms, so I should be grateful for that, but I really wish I could see you."
She wasn't sure if that would make it easier to deal with the capsule, and the emptiness outside it, or not. It might make it harder, to see what she was missing.
"So, inside the galley cabinet, at the back of the entrée drawer, there are some birthday cake packets. One for each year. Go get one."