“That much is obvious,” Corbin said. He flipped the filter around and pointed to the label. “Model 4546-C44.” He stared at her, expectantly.
Oh no. Rosemary’s mind raced, trying to remember the order form. There had been so many… “Was that not what you wanted?”
Corbin’s sour face answered her question. “I specifically asked for the C45. The C44 has a coupling port that is narrower than the junction in the tank. I’ll have to add a new attachment in order to make it connect properly.”
Rosemary had been pulling up archived forms as he spoke. There it was: Triton Advanced saline filter, model 4546-C45. Shit. “I’m so sorry, Corbin. I don’t know what happened. I must’ve selected the wrong model. But at least this one will work, right?” The second the words were out of her mouth, she knew they had been a mistake.
“That’s not the point, Rosemary,” Corbin said, as if speaking to a child. “What if I had required something more vital than a saline filter? You said it yourself, you don’t know much about algae tech. You can get away with mistakes like this in some cushy planetside office, but not on a long-haul ship. The smallest component can be the difference between getting to port safely and decompressing out in the open.”
“I’m sorry,” Rosemary said again. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
“See that you do.” Corbin picked up the filter and walked to the door. “It really isn’t that hard,” he said with his back to her. The door spun shut behind him.
Rosemary sat staring at her desk. Sissix had told her not to let Corbin get under her skin, but she had screwed up this time, and it was a careless mistake, too. Decompressing didn’t sound so bad right then.
“Aw, it’s not so bad!” chirped the pixel plant. “Give yourself a hug!”
“Oh, shut up,” Rosemary said.
Ashby tripped over a length of tubing as he walked through the engine room. “What—” He craned his head around the corner to find an avalanche of cables pouring out of the wall. The entire bracing panel had been removed. He tiptoed his way around the tangled mess, careful not to step on any fluid-filled tubes. As he approached the open wall, he heard someone sniff.
“Kizzy?”
The mech tech was sitting inside the wall, hugging her knees, tools scattered alongside. Her face was smudged with gunk and grease, as usual, but a tear or two had created clean pathways down her cheeks. She looked up at him pitifully. Even the ribbons in her hair looked limp.
“I’m having a bad day,” she said.
Ashby leaned inside the open panel. “What’s up?”
She sniffed again, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “I slept awful, I had nightmares out the ass, and by the time I got to sleep, my alarm was going off, so today was dumb from the get-go, and then I was like, hey, I’ve still got some jam cakes left, and that cheered me up, but then I got to the kitchen and somebody ate the last of ’em last night and they didn’t ask me at all, and I still don’t know who it was, so then I went to shower, and I whacked my knee against the sink, like a genius, and it’s totally bruised, and I had a mouthful of dentbots at the time, so I kinda swallowed some, and Dr. Chef says it’s okay but I have a tummyache, which he said would happen, and then I finally got to take my stupid shower, but I noticed that the pressure was weird, so I started poking around the water reclamation systems, and I can tell there’s a whole line of cabling that’s fucked up, but I haven’t found it yet, and now there’s this big mess on the floor and I still haven’t got to any of the other stuff I needed to do today, and then I remembered that today’s my cousin Kip’s birthday, and he always has the best parties and I’m totally missing it.” She sniffled again. “And I know how stupid that all sounds, but I am just not with it today. Not at all.”
Ashby put his hand on top of hers. “We all have days like that.”
“I guess.”
“But you know, it’s not even lunchtime yet. There’s time for it to get better from here.”
She gave a glum nod. “Yeah.”
“What was on your to-do list today?”
“Cleaning, mostly. The air filters all need a scrub. A sunlamp down in the Fishbowl needs new wiring. And there’s a floor panel coming loose in Ohan’s room.”
“Is any of that vital?”
“No. But it needs to get done.”
“Just worry about getting the water lines fixed today. The rest can wait.” He squeezed her hand. “And hey. There’s nothing I can do about your cousin’s birthday, but I know how tough that is. I’m sorry we’ve got such a long haul this time.”
“Oh, stop,” she said. “It’s oodles of cash and I love what we do. It’s not like I’m your indentured servant or something. It was my choice to leave home.”
“Just because you leave home doesn’t mean you stop caring about it. You wouldn’t get homesick otherwise. And your family knows you care. I keep an eye on our Linking traffic, you know. I see how many vid packs get sent to your family.”
Kizzy gave a mighty sniff and pointed to the hallway. “You have to go now,” she said. “Because I have to work and you’re making me cry more. Not in a bad way. But you’re making me all mushy and if I hug you I’ll get gunk all over that nice shirt, which really brings out your eyes, by the way.”
“Hey, everybody,” Lovey said through the nearest vox. “There’s a mail drone inbound. Packages on board for Ashby, Corbin, Jenks, Dr. Chef, and Kizzy. It’ll be here in about ten minutes.”
“Eek!” cried Kizzy. “Mail! A mail drone!” She tumbled out of the wall and ran down the hallway with her arms outstretched like shuttle wings. “Interstellar goodies iiiiiiiincomiiiiiing!”
Ashby grinned. “Told you the day would get better,” he called after her. She was too busy “whoosh”-ing to reply.
The cargo bay hatch adjusted itself, shrinking down to fit the mail drone’s delivery port. As Ashby and the others waited, Sissix walked through the door. She’d put on a pair of pants, and it looked like Dr. Chef had taken care of the molting problem.
“Hey,” Ashby said. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” she said. Her skin was oddly bright, and a few dry ridges still lingered, but at least she didn’t look like a peeling onion anymore.
“I don’t think there’s anything for you.”
“So?” She shrugged and smiled. “I’m nosy.”
“Just a moment,” Lovey said. “I’m scanning the contents for contaminants.”
“Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy,” said Kizzy. “It’s my birthday!”
“Your birthday’s not until middle year,” said Jenks.
“But it feels like my birthday. I love getting mail.”
“It’s probably just those lockjaw clips you ordered.”
“Jenks. Do you know how great lockjaw clips are? There is nothing they can’t hold down. Even my hair can’t work its way out of them, and that’s saying a lot.”
Ashby glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m going to pretend like you weren’t talking about using the tech supplies I buy as hair accessories.”
Kizzy pressed her lips together. “Only in emergencies.”
“All clear,” Lovey said. The hatch hissed open. A tray slid forward, holding a large, sealed container. Ashby took the container and swiped his wristwrap over the scan-seal. The container gave an affirmative beep. A corresponding beep echoed from the mail drone on the other side of the hull. The tray retracted and the hatch closed. There was a muffled clank as the mail drone detached, off to find its next recipient.
Ashby unsealed the lid and sorted through the parcels within. They were all plainly packaged, but even so, there was something charming about a bunch of boxes and tubes marked with his crew members’ names. It did feel a little like a holiday.