As I approach, the circle shudders and lifts up into the wall, revealing a much smaller portal than the others in the ship. We’re not meant to be here; only Rover has regular access to the engine room. I click on my headlamp and float toward the opening. With one hand on either side of it, I peer in.
A dark and narrow area is clogged with pipes and wires. The engine pounds in the distance.
“Do not stay here long,” OS says, as if sensing my thoughts.
“It’ll take me only a sec to copy the data. OS, will you look at this! Just when I thought there was nothing new to see on this ship.” I lift myself into the dark space, grateful for my skinny body. There’s a hum and a rush, warmth from the wires around me and chill from the pipes, and a dripping sound, probably my immortal urine traveling to the cistern. This crawl space might be wall-to-wall ship components, but the engineers clearly designed it so that a spacefarer could access it if needed. Barely, though. I nearly brain myself on a low-hanging panel.
“Look to your left, and link your bracelet there,” OS says.
I press my bracelet to the panel. A simple display projects, offering options to view or copy, with a shaded-out option to delete and replace. That one probably requires Kodiak’s bracelet to be linked, too.
I select-squeeze “copy.” While I’m waiting for the transfer, I dim the projection so I can take a good look around. The pipes and cables are unlabeled. The engineers are clearly counting on OS to guide us if we need to manually repair anything in here. At first it bugs me—what if OS goes down and we need to run this ship ourselves?—but I understand the engineers’ reasoning. TheCoordinated Endeavorisn’t as simple as a sailboat or even a submarine. If OS goes down, we’re dead a thousand different ways.
There’s enough room to move that I could float a waysfarther and see the actual engine room, but I’m glad I don’t have to. The thought of getting wedged in here, of being pinched between heavy machines hurtling through empty space, strips me down to raw nerves.
The transfer is at 55 percent.Hurry up.
So I don’t have to face the ship’s heatless guts anymore, I peer back into the light. The yellow portal has remained open, revealing the blank white wall and a bit of orange portal on the far side. I imagine the door closing on me, and am glad for my ankles floating there, blocking it. The panel I nearly bashed my head on juts in front of the doorway.
Eighty percent.
The panel’s corner is stained. It bends in an odd direction.
Eighty-two percent.
It looks like it was dropped on a hard surface and dented. But that’s not possible. TheCoordinated Endeavorwouldn’t have any parts that weren’t installed in pristine condition, and I couldn’t damage a panel if it’s in an area of the ship where I’ve never been.
Anyway, how does anyone drop a panel that’s still hinged to the wall? Some critical piece of information is missing. My brain feels furry again, like when I woke from the coma.
One hundred percent.
“Come out, Ambrose,” OS calls.
I unlink my bracelet and wriggle backward. Once my legs are kicking free, I take a better look at the panel. The material has bent from blunt force, torn and ragged. The stain is purple and red. When I place my finger under it, it flakes.
Dried blood. This is driedblood. Whose?
“Ambrose Cusk, I cannot read your facial expression from here,” OS says, “so I do not know why you have gone motionless. Are you stuck? Do you need help?”
“I’m fine!” I call out hollowly.
If I let the yellow portal close, the bent panel—and dried blood—will disappear. It seems like evidence I should keep. But whatever mystery this represents probably involves OS, and I don’t want to tell OS what I’ve seen, so I can’t ask it to keep the yellow portal open. I’m stuck.
“Ambrose, your transfer is complete. That passageway to the engine room isn’t intended for extended crew exposure. Only the interior spaces designed for habitation have proper radiation shielding. Exit now.”
I make my choice.
I launch from the wall with all the strength of my legs, so I’m torpedoing out of the tunnelway. As I go, I grab on to the edges of the panel and yank it to my chest. It’s too much for it to bear. With a wrenching sound, the panel comes free and I soar out of the yellow portal, into the full gravity of theEndeavor. I crash to the floor.
“I am having difficulty interpreting what just happened,”OS says. “Did you have an accident?”
“Yes, I had an accident,” I manage to choke out, still clutching the panel to my chest. “I’m okay, though, OS. We’ll have to find a way to replace this right away.”
“I will have Rover print a new panel,” OS says. The yellow portal starts to close but can’t make a seal—the ragged shard where the panel was once attached has bent into the opening.
Whose blood is on this?is what I want to ask. Instead I say: “This is significant enough damage that I want to let Kodiak know about it.”
“I understand the reasons for your precaution, but this damage is only cosmetic,” OS says. “The ship can operate fine for the few hours it will take Rover to print and mount a new panel. This is nothing you need to be concerned about.”
