_-* Tasks Remaining: 342 *-_
Water from my spilled cup beads on the waxy fabric of my jumpsuit.
I have the worst hangover in the unabridged history ofhangovers. Way worse even than after I writhed around with half-naked cadets in that PepsiRum field adventure.
When I pull my head up, it crackles as it unsuckers from the puke-covered floor. That’s almost as awesome a feeling as my screaming headache.
“You’re on board theCoordinated Endeavor,” OS says.
“I remember,” I say, wincing. “I passed out, that’s all. Have Rover bring me a wet rag.” I struggle to my feet and manage to stay upright by casting my arms out like a surfer.
“Your wet rag is on its way,” OS says.
I lean over and elegantly vomit.
“Given what you are continuing to produce, it is fortunate we are not in the zero-gravity portion of the ship,” OS says.
“Agreed,” I say, wiping my mouth. “Cleaning zero-g vomit would keep Rover busy for a long time. Open the door, OS.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to move about?” OS asks.
“Yes. Don’t second-guess me, OS. And give me an update on the Titan signal ASAP.”
The door leaving the medical bay rolls smoothly away, giving me a view of a short white hallway. My feet are bare, and though each step makes the soles feel like prodded blisters, the pain is tolerable.Nice work, Ambrose. You’re walking!
“Be prepared to sit down the moment you feel you needit. Human heads are heavy, and far from the ground, and easily damaged by falls.”
“It’s definitely a design flaw,” I say, swallowing the latest wave of vomit. “Much better to be headless and bodiless like you.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“Yes, that subtext was already coming through loud and clear.” I’ve arrived at the next door. “Open this too, OS,” I say.
It starts to roll open but jerks to a stop, with just enough space left for me to slide through. “I’ll need to repair this door,” I say. “I assume you haven’t repaired it already because the mechanism is beyond the reach of Rover?”
“That is correct. Though Rover is skilled at planned maintenance, tasks have accumulated that it cannot fix. I have a log of maintenance work that I need you to perform. It is as follows: three hundred and forty-two items. One: in room 00, check the undertrack electrical fittings. Two: in room 00, diagnose the erratic nitrogen readings. Three: in room 01—”
Now OS really does sound like my mother. “Not now,” I say, tapping a finger to my temple. That’s not where my head hurts worst—that award officially goes to the base of my skull. “Open all the doorways until I get the chance to examine them. I’m not getting accidentally trapped anywhere.”
“Done,” OS says. “Perhaps I should file the doors under‘Kodiak,’ regardless.”
Kodiak? The mission is only slowly coming back to me; I guess that’s something I haven’t remembered yet. “Priorities for now are the Titan update and getting us some replacement oxygen from that asteroid.” I turn the corner, and the broad window of room 06 is before me.
I sink to my knees, hands over my mouth.
The stars!
All those nuclear explosions sending out light waves, a very few of whose fate is to dissipate on my retinas. I look into the voids in between, a nothingness more absolute than any vacuum on Earth. In space, without any atmosphere to cloud my view, even that void resolves into more distant pricks of light.
Nowhere is truly empty. The thought makes me feel lavishly alone. Somehow, space is so deeply melancholy that it’s not at all sad, like a note so low it ceases to sound. Even my sorrow about my insignificance feels insignificant.
I spent thousands of training hours in a copy of 06. Back on Earth, I reached theEndeavormock-up by walking through a kilometer-long hangar lined with military helicopters and offline warbots, milling trainees and mechanics, refugee children watching from the camps on the far side of electrified fences. Sometimes, when the heat cyclones and sandstorms of the global summer got especially bad, the broad hangar doors were sealed. When theywere open, though, they showed a horizon on the far side, the sparkling yellows and blues and artificial pinks of the Mari beach.
The blue and yellow swaths I trained with have turned a deep black, sprays of opal revolving outside the window as the ship turns. TheEndeavorrotates to produce its simulated gravity, making the stars wash across the sky.
“You might be interested in looking where I’m placing the crosshairs,” says my mother’s voice.
It feels weird, having her out here. “We’re definitely going to be changing your voice skin.”
