We are quite literally within a vacuum.
I’m thinking about all this right now in particular because I’m standing before the sealed orange portal to Kodiak’s half of the ship, and I hear a distant pounding. For it to be audible over the hum of the ship’s machinery, Kodiak is striking something very hard indeed.
I left for a few moments to get more supplies from my half of the ship, and this is what I’ve returned to.
“I cannot see the portion of theAurorawhere Spacefarer Celius is right now,” OS says. “But from the vibrations I have detected, it is likely that he is doing significant damage to the ship.”
“Yeah, I know,” I whisper.
“I could withdraw Kodiak’s authorization to open the orange portal from his side,” my mother’s voice says. “This way, if he ruptures the hull, you will not perish along with him. I could accept sacrificing theAurora, if it means maintaining mission integrity and reaching Minerva on Titan.”
I blink heavily. Is Kodiak really trying to destroy the ship? Part of me is surprised that I care. The first couple days after we got our news, I might not have. But now, onday three, what do you know—I care. The feeling has been there the whole time in the darkness, like a pilot light that’s always been flickering inside me:I will fight to live.
Kodiak and I parted ways after our walloping sledgehammer of bad news, and he’s been unresponsive since. I was happy to wallow on my own for a while, but I’ve started to really miss him. Also, connecting with him is the only chance I have for stopping him from killing us both. “I don’t grant that permission,” I say. “Let Kodiak open this portal if he chooses.”
Kodiak’s banging has settled into a rhythm. I pretend my violin is here with me, bow along to the rhythm of his labor.
I realize I might be going a little bit crazy.
“Are communications to theAuroraopen?” I ask OS.
“Yes.”
“Meaning I can try to speak to Kodiak from here?”
“Yes.”
He hasn’t iced me out completely. Good. “Kodiak, I haven’t wrapped my brain around this any more than you have. Let’s figure it out together.”
The banging continues without pause.
“I know your duty to Dimokratía is the most important thing to you. What you’re doing now flies right in the face of that.”
The banging continues. It might even have sped up.
“I need you, Kodiak!” I say.
The banging pauses.
“I can’t handle this alone,” I continue. I’m using classic crisis negotiating tactics, going for full-bore emotional connection, but as I’m saying the words, I realize how true they are. My voice becomes wet with feeling. “Please. We can’t handle this alone. At least let us share it.”
I startle when his voice comes through. “What will that help?”
“You have to be kidding me,” I find myself saying. “There’s literally only one other creature in the whole universe who’s like you, and you are stuck on a spaceship with it. You know how fucking lucky that makes you?”
A long pause. Then a laugh. A sad and fermented sort of laugh.
I jerk to my feet as the orange portal opens.
Kodiak’s letting me in.
“This is good, Spacefarer Cusk,” OS says. My mother’s voice continues talking, but I’m not listening. I dart around, scooping up packs of Kodiak’s favorite meals before I hustle through the open portal.
I’ve gotten good enough at the zero-g part of the ship that I can manage it even with arms full, doing a brawl-worthy upside-down flip to land on my feet in Kodiak’s gravity.
He’s not in the wired parts of the ship. He’s also not in the blind room.
“Kodiak?”
