by S. Walker
-her face-
-her face was wet?
Jamet jerked awake and flailed away from the console, frantically wiping drool off her cheek. "Gahhh! Ew! Ick!" Her uniform jacket slumped to the floor, snatched up again a moment later as an improvised cloth to scrub with. "Hate when I fall asleep on the..."
Jamet broke off. Then she looked around with the wary air of a prey animal after a shadow passes overhead. This was not the desk in her quarters. In fact it had the cramped, utilitarian design of a-
The last twenty-hour hours landed on her like a thick, smothering cloud of moldy vomit. "Oh shit." She scrambled for the ship clock, hammering the lifeboat's console into obedience. "Please don't be late, please don't be late... yes!" She fist pumped once, then hissed in pain as bruised ribs made their displeasure known. It was still before eight! She had time! Time to clean the boat up, toss the evidence of an all-night frantic simulator study, run through a sanitizer, maybe get a fresh uniform. She'd pulled it off and nobody ever had to know. Especially a certain vertically-challenged, terminally sarcastic know-it-all in a smug rainbow visor.
Oh, and perhaps they might live if she ever had to navigate a lifeboat. That was good, too. Priorities and all. And speaking of priorities her stomach currently had a very urgent communication pending, requesting a quick wellness check to see if her throat was cut and no longer planning on sending nourishment downwards. It would probably be a good idea to handle that soon.
Actually... in fact that was a great idea: Odds were good the entire crew was having breakfast right now. Jamet could show up, establish an alibi, then race to cover up any evidence with no one the wiser. It was a perfect plan. In fact she could practically smell the caf already!
She sniffed. Sniffed again. That was odd.
Caf was in the air.
Turning carefully around, Jamet forced stiff muscles into lurching motion, aiming her gaze around the tiny lifeboat. After a moment she caught the smell again-- acrid, slightly sweet, tempting with richness and flavor. The scent pulled her eyes downward to one of the crash couches until they locked onto the glorious sight of a tall, fat-bodied thermos.
A tall, fat-bodied, steaming thermos. Oh no. She was busted. Time for damage control: Better to get started early on the excuses and hope for the best. "I can explain. The ship's lifeboats are non-standard and I thought maybe a little refresher course was in order. But my console access is locked, so I had to use the actual boat systems to run simulations. But the controls are slightly different, causing a lot of... annnnnd there's no one here."
Unless they were invisible. Doubtful. She carefully waved an uninjured arm through the tiny space just to make sure, dropping her uniform jacket in the process.
Which was another unusual thing. She clearly remembered folding that up. But now her jacket was over the couch arm, where it fell from her shoulders after waking up in a puddle of drool. "Did someone... cover me up? And leave a thermos of hot caf? That is- uh, was? That was incredibly kind." Jamet thought about this for a moment. "Which rules out Emilia. Unless there's blackmail pictures on the network right now."
She put both hands on her knees and groaned herself upright, attempting to move as few muscles as possible to achieve vertical supremacy. Things popped and clicked in ways that should never be popping or clicking. Whatever Paul gave her to combat the pain definitely did not hold up to sleeping halfway over a console. She'd have to stop by Medical to check in, perhaps beg a prescription while avoiding the hell out of Peter Minyer.
But first: Caf.
Priorities.
Jamet snagged the thermos and her console while hitting the hatch controls with an elbow, stepping into the corridor like every joint was made out of pulverized glass. On better days she'd think nothing at all about briskly walking to her quarters while juggling a console, a mug of caf and perhaps several printouts. It was a pretty normal routine for someone as busy as she used to be-- hell, she probably dodged around other people without even looking, never a drop spilled or an update missed.
Today was decidedly not one of those trips. In fact is was the exact opposite: Jamet limped at a snail's pace, slightly hunched over her console and growling like a troll around the caf thermos. Every deck plate got the evil eye treatment, every bulkhead became a makeshift support surface. Thank the stars for Kipper's insane level of automation because if there had been any foot traffic she'd need to spend the rest of her life eliminating witnesses.
She made it to her quarters in slightly under fifteen minutes, cranky and breathing in pained gasps. "Might be... more hurt... than I thought..." At least the hard part was done. Now to grab a uniform, limp to the sanitizer and perhaps make a call to Medical. Surely Paul could deliver some medication? Send a drone, walk it over personally, perhaps end her misery with a well timed blow to the head? It was worth a shot. But first, the hatch.
Wrist out, she ran her ID over the hatch sensor to unlock it.
It beeped an angry negative.
Jamet blinked, checked the nameplate on the surface-- yup, that was her-- then tried again. Wrist out, ID to sensor, angry negative beep. "What the actual hell? Open up! I swear by every four-fisted fiscal fuckery if Emilia is playing some kind of stupid prank I am going to throttle her like-"
Memories suddenly landed on her like singularities, bombing her brain with visual scenes. Executive Targer, crying. Negotiations like knife fights. A bare fisted cage match in the empty storage room. Gravity kicking on, snatching them out of the air like meteorites reentering atmosphere, but with the Executive skull-downward for the impact. Swapping biochip IDs. "Oh my red bottom line. I'm not who I am any more."
Jamet rested her forehead on the cool hatch, too sore and tired to move. Was this a good spot to die? Was any spot worth dying on? Perhaps it was about dying in dignity, without witnesses. That had to count for something. "My own room hatch doesn't recognize me. Just end it alllllll, pleeeeease. I'm begging you."
"I assume this is a bad time. Would you like me to come back later?"
Weird pitch, vocal cracks and atonal. She was saved. "Paul, I need you so bad right now you don't even know." Without lifting her head Jamet waved in his direction. "Please tell me you brought enough painkillers to make me happy again. Or dead. Either one works."
He moved around to her left, easing into view out of the corner of her eye. Actually that was a lie; all Jamet could see was a pair of boots and enough leg material to verify there was a Medical uniform present. "Unfortunately, neither. I remember warning you about the hangover effect of taking too many of those so quickly. Did you forget?"
"I remember you calling me fat."
"I would never." He paused for a dramatic moment. "Unless you were physically incapable of chasing me down, of course."
Jamet couldn't help it: She started laughing weakly, feeling every tiny motion as a spasm of pain through her ribs. "Oh. Great. You're killing me with humor."
"Laughter is the best medicine, Impossible."
She spun on wings of retro flame, laughing and untouchable. Jamet sighed, letting the dream go again. "Can you get this hatch open? Please? I'll trade you a useless personal console and half a thermos of caf." She demonstrated both by banging them lightly against the stubborn metal door.
"Actually, yes. I think I can help you with that." His voice angle changed, pointed upwards. Why did people do that when messaging someone? "Emilia, can you set the lieutenant's quarters as unoccupied?"
The short tech's high pitched voice came out of the overheads, aiming directly downward into Jamet's brain like ice picks. "Why? She moving out already? Don't like her room or something?"
"It is the simplest way to open the door. She is currently locked out and needs access." He sounded far too chipper about revealing her personal problems. In fact, that might be a little too much detail, especially considering who was on the other end of the line. Jamet suddenly had a horrible premonition. "That isn't what it sounds-"
"Paul, you absolute dog!" Emilia wolf whist
led over the speakers loud enough to nearly make Jamet pass out. "Oh are we going to have a talk, you awkwardly tall glass of sweet water! I'll make that caf you like, we'll bust out the good stuff and get some documentation going!"
"What are you talking about?" Paul seemed amused, but lost at the same time. Jamet just groaned piteously.
"Is that the LT I hear? Wow, you broke her! Yeah, sure, I've got that room set to unoccupied now. Try the hatch and it should open. Not that she needed it last night! I am so disgustingly impressed with you right now."
The line clicked off. Jamet elbowed the controls again, then nearly fell forward into the room when the hatch opened.
Paul tried damage recovery. "I am not entirely sure what she was suggesting, but-"
"Nope." She didn't bother turning on the lights. "Not a word."
"But I-"
"Paul?" Jamet sounded like death warmed over and given a manicure.
"Ma'am?"
"Shush." Then she had a thought. "And bring more pain medication as soon as possible to the break room. I'm going to eat it like candy and down caf until I feel alive again."
"Not for another twenty-four hours." He even sounded apologetic about it, the bastard.
It was entirely too bad hatches couldn't be slammed.
Chapter 34
In A Flash
The lifeboat shunted away from the Kipper at the speed of smell, wallowing like an overfilled bathtub.
Janson looked like a man trying very hard to be impressed at juvenile macaroni art. "Hell of a launch, LT. Smoothest I've ever been on." He awkwardly patted her on the shoulder and offered a thumbs up. It was all the big man could do from the crash couch; he looked like a giant teddy bear crisscrossed with harness buckles. "Ah couldn't have done better."
Jamet's ears burned like coals as she resisted the urge to facepalm. She pulled up a checklist instead, rapidly ticking off items. "Kipper, can you hear me?" Her hands danced across the console, grabbing timers and distance markers to throw onto the workspace screen. Numbers flashed to life and began counting upwards as their lifeboat eased slowly away from the mothership.
"Yup, clear enough. Which isn't something to brag about considering I could throw a rock and hit you from here." Unlike Jamet's only passenger Emilia sounded less than impressed at the launch and unwilling to be polite about it. "You planning on getting out and pushing? Did you screw something up?"
Molars suffered for the cause, grinding hard enough to crush rock. "What were you expecting?" She spun on wings of fire. "Some sort of explosive joyride, maybe some entertainment feed style pyrotechnics? Want me to roll this boat back and forth a few times and scream about contacts?"
"...kinda, yeah. Could you?"
"I will admit to being a little let down as well." Paul sounded concerned. "Are lifeboat takeoffs always so anticlimactic?"
Jamet rolled her eyes so slowly Janson thought she might be having a stroke. "Ma'am? You okay?"
"Just... you know..." she motioned at the console as checklist items began disappearing. "Just doing things right, no big deal. Have you ever ejected a lifeboat before, maybe simulated one?"
He glanced around the tiny cabin, taking in the overpadded crash couches, bulky restraining harness fixtures and cubbies full of spare skinsuits. Pullout equipment racks arced overhead, competing for space with detachable kits covering everything from medical emergencies to bulkhead breaches. Every inch of space on the vessel had a purpose: Even the pilot couch perched directly on the bulge of a stacked atmosphere recycler and power supply. Jamet's navigation console was small enough he wasn't sure both of his gloved hands would fit over it.
The only thing oversized on the whole boat was the workspace screen taking up the entire forward bulkhead. Janson eyed it, noting the countdown timer and a rising counter for distance. "Nah, ma'am. Can't say ah have ever actually launched one. Been on a few drills, once or twice. We'd just 'skin up and go sit in the couches for a bit while some Management type timed us. Then get out again and see who got the sanction for being too slow."
"Wait, they sanctioned you for being slow to a lifeboat?" That seemed bizarre and strangely unnecessary. "Who could possibly think people weren't saving their own lives fast enough?"
"Eh." He squinted one eye, thoughtful. "I think it was one of those motivational meeting things."
"Oh no." She pulled up a system map, confirming the lifeboat was inching towards her preplanned course line. "Please tell me you're not talking about the Motivational Synergy Movement."
"Ah! That's the one! Even had that catchphrase: 'Get Them Moving For More Productivity'. Sounded interesting, but it just meant doing random evacuation drills during our off duty hours."
On screen a checklist item popped up, flashing red. Jamet tapped it closed again and opened a comms link. "Kipper, thirty seconds to lifeboat navigation. I'm going to start pointing our nose toward the smelting facility now."
"Understood, lieutenant." Siers sounded nearly as tired as she felt, which shouldn't be possible. Did everyone on board have insomnia or something? "How long before you both get there, do you think?"
The nav console spit that answer out as a precomputed formula. She glanced at it to confirm, then tossed the results as an icon onto the comm link. "Sending now, sir. We'll have to flip around at about three quarters of the way to start decelerating, but it should be just a little over a day of travel." She noticed Janson start to raise his hand, then put it back down again with a confused look. "Engineer? Problem?"
He frowned. It made that enormous beard do interesting things around the corners of his mouth. "Ah thought you said a day of travel, that's all."
Jamet hit two toggles, then put both hands on the navigation controls and started turning them slowly. "Yes, that's right." She hit the comm link again. "Adjusting now, Kipper." The lifeboat rattled and hissed through a slow motion turn, tiny adjustment retros struggling mightily to rotate them at a glacial pace. "Dead stars, this thing turns slower than Corporate authorizes refunds."
He still looked confused. "How far is that smelter, ma'am?"
She tapped a callout, expanding it into a marker for total distance. "About four hundred twenty thousand miles. But we're matching up elliptical courses, so there's going to be some lossy movement coming in." Jamet demonstrated with her hands, swooping them in long angles over her head until they met. "We'll have to adjust a bit when we get closer."
"Ah mean-- you meant a day each, right? Like a day speeding up, a day coastin' along, another day slowing down?" Janson switched from looking confused to a dawning sense of nervousness.
The entire forward screen began flashing red in a slow, one-second long heartbeat. Jamet checked her harness straps and settled in, making sure all of the navigational windows stood front and center on screen. Then she glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "You've never done a launch simulation?"
"Umm... no." His eyes slowly drew to the forward screen as large red numbers began counting down.
The comms link popped on, Emilia sounding bored. "So this is kind of a letdown. Is anything going to happen, or can I go watch a serial or something?"
Jamet ignored her, still talking to Janson. "In emergency situations-- or I guess on entertainment feeds-- everyone piles into the lifeboat and takes off under full power." She made pa-shewwww noises. "Because if you're going for the boats you need to get away from the ship as fast as possible. But we're on a controlled course." She tapped the premade navigation line. "So we undocked normally and coasted to our departure point. No sense roasting the Kipper's hull or anything."
"Roast- roasting?" Janson looked alarmed.