“You’ve been busy,” said Grace.
“Oh, hi,” said Hope, emerging from the crater in the floor. The mask of her rig slicked back, revealing a face smudged with grease and dirt and exhaustion. “Hey. Give me a sec.” The mask slid back down over her face, her youth hidden by the hard metal and glass of the suit. The actuators on her back whirred into action as she slipped back below Grace’s line of sight, bright stars of burning metal born by a welding tool flung out. A pause, a silence, smoke drifting from the crater, then Hope re-emerged, visor pulling back. “That should just about do it.”
“Hm,” said Grace. “If it’s just about done, what am I here for?”
“Right,” said Hope. “Well, two things.” She clambered out of the hole. Grace took a couple quick steps forward, offering the Engineer her hand. Hope looked confused — she’s so tired, when did she last sleep? — then a ghost of a smile hit her face. She grabbed Grace’s hand, grip still strong despite the hours without sleep, and let herself be pulled out of the hole in the deck. “The first is the hardest for you. The second is the hardest for me.” Uncertainty/caution/tired-tired-tired came off her.
Grace doffed her own helmet, a loaner from the crew’s stash. Before this was over she might go through Ravana, find something more to her style. And by style she was thinking easy to move in. Tyche’s stash was full of straight spacer gear, nothing fancy. Everyone else had their own kit, personal, appropriate for their jobs. To fit in, Grace would need the same. It’d be best if a new suit didn’t smell like the last person who’d worn it, but looks were better than anything else. Especially now, while everyone else still seemed to have trust issues.
Everyone except for Hope. Too young for rough business like this. Don’t get involved. Don’t get attached. Grace almost growled at herself. “Let’s start with what’s hardest for me,” she said, offering a smile.
“Okay, okay,” said Hope. “I need to turn off the Ravana. I mean, the reactor,” and here, she jerked a thumb at the machinery hanging behind her, “is already out. We’re using Tyche for everything else. Lights, heating—”
“It’s not very warm,” said Grace, her breath misting out in front of her.
“What? Oh, sure, right. Yeah. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Grace. “Don’t apologize. I mean, if we all die in a fiery explosion, you and I can talk about the right level of apology. Until then, do your thing.”
Hope was nodding, not really following along. She’d been awake for, as near as Grace could tell, at least three days without a break. The day they’d jumped, then two days of hard labour here, stripping the Ravana. “Okay, cool, right. Sorry.” She winced. “Sorry. Dammit. I mean. Hell.” She ran a hand through already dirty pink hair, and it was hard to tell whether she was making it dirtier or cleaner. “So the thing. I need to turn everything off.”
“Makes sense,” said Grace. “Because you’re pulling the Tyche’s reactor.”
“Tyche is about to pull her own reactor in a great big ball of fire,” said Hope. “I’m trying to race her to it.”
“Okay,” said Grace. “How long do we have?”
Hope looked at Grace, and Grace felt fear/desperation. “Long enough. It’s not important. What is important is that I need to be doing this, and I need … well. Since you … I remember the Navy,” she said.
“You want me,” said Grace, “to go tell everyone what is happening. And you want me to tell everyone, but especially October Kohl, to leave you alone.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Hope, eyes darting about. Fear/fear.
“It’s okay,” said Grace. Be the calm. Be the center of the storm. This young woman’s fear would drown her in a tide if she didn’t hold herself steady. “I can do that. I think October Kohl and I need to have a talk anyway.”
“He’s not much for talking,” said Hope. “Not about things that matter.”
“That’s fine,” said Grace. “I can talk for both of us.”
“Well,” said Hope. “It’s a little more … okay, okay. I’ve got a plan. Because we don’t have much time.”
“How much time,” said Grace, “do we have, Hope?” She took a step forward, put a hand on the other woman’s arm. “How much time?”
Grace saw the point there where Hope almost cracked, but instead of shattering like stressed ceramic she swallowed. “About forty-five minutes,” she said. “About forty-five minutes before the Tyche turns into a small sun. We had three days, but she’s been breathing for Ravana, and Ravana, well she’s so big, and…”
“Forty five minutes,” said Grace. “What’s the plan?”
“In a minute,” said Hope. “The second thing.”
“Later,” said Grace.
“Now,” said Hope. “Because we might not have a later.”
“Later,” said Grace, “because it won’t matter either way. What’s the plan?”
• • •
Grace ran. She ran out of Ravana’s Engineering bay, bounced off the wall outside, used the ricochet to clang down the empty gangway. She keyed her comm as she ran. “Tyche, this is Grace. All hands, ready room.”
Nate’s voice. “Grace, this is Tyche. What’s—”
“Ready room,” said Grace, bouncing off another corner. The walls of Ravana whipped past, her breath rasping in her throat. She had a moment where she thought more cardio and then almost laughed at the absurdity of it. She hit the airlock between the ships, Ravana’s clean giving way to Tyche’s home—
It’s not home. It’s a ship. And it’s got to keep you alive.
—the air feeling warmer already. Through the cargo bay. A glance at the transmitter, a promise for a colony that wouldn’t even know they’d existed if she didn’t get this right. Past Kohl coming from his cabin as she hit the main deck.
“What’s the rush?” he said to her back.
“Ready room!” she said. “Bring your gear.”
And then, the ready room. Nate, standing against a wall. His stance said calm, confident but worry/worry was coming off him in waves. El, halfway through the door to the flight deck. Kohl bringing up the rear, the big man moving with some speed. She’d need to remember that, if it ever came down to it. Grace had always prized her speed, working at it, but he looked to be quick enough and twice as strong.
She wanted to stop to catch her breath, but no time. “We’ve got about forty minutes before the reactor blows.” She held up a hand to forestall the questions that would come. “Hope’s got a plan. But it needs all of us.”
“For fuck’s sake—” started Kohl.
“My part in the plan,” said Grace, “is to deal with questions and comments from idiots.” She looked at Kohl. “You were going to say something?”
Kohl’s face said he sensed a trap, so he crossed his arms instead of saying anything else. Good. She looked at them all. “Here’s what’ll happen.”
• • •