by Kate Blair
The vent stretches out either side of me. Empty.
After a while, I start crawling back, working my way down the vent, keeping my movements as quiet as possible. My knees and hands are cold from the chill of the metal floor. I’m soon into a rhythm, using the remote to shut down the fans, crawling through and starting them again. But as I crawl over the air recyclers for the carriage, I bump my left elbow hard.
I stop myself from crying out, then sit, breathing in air through my teeth and twisting my arm to peer at my elbow. My overalls aren’t ripped, but I hit the funny bone. I close my eyes until the pain has eased, then check the side of the duct.
There’s a bump on the wall. A flat rectangle, the size of a mealpack, easy to miss. I didn’t notice it in the dark on the way out. It’s featureless apart from screws at the corners. I pull my linkcom from my gear bag and shine it on the object.
“What is it?” I ask Maia. And I know what she’d say. Only one way to find out.
I quickly loosen the screws on the outside and pop it open.
My breath stops in my throat.
Wires, forming a circuit I only know in theory, leading from a remote sensor to a lump of white putty.
This is a bomb.
I push myself back against the other side of the vent. The bomb has no lights or countdown on it, but that’s not reassuring. It could be set off at any time, remotely. I force air into my lungs. In. Out. What do I do? Okay. Okay. I can deal with this.
Breathe. Breathe.
I pull a wire cutter from my gear bag. It’s a simple circuit. I can disarm it. I’m sure.
Mostly sure.
Should I leave it? Get help? But what if it’s triggered in the meantime? There’s a chance it could blow a hole in the hull and decompress this part of the carriage.
My mind whirrs through an assessment of the likely result. The Genebank is far enough away to be safe. It’s mostly storage and changing rooms here. I’m right above the machinery for this carriage’s air circulation unit. It’s a low population area.
If the bomb triggered a hull breach, the emergency doors would seal automatically. The air circulation backup in the engine room would kick in and take over pumping in fresh air through the spokes to the rest of the ship until we repaired the damage and normal air flow could resume around the rim. It’s unlikely anyone would be hurt, except me, and they couldn’t have known I’d be here.
So why would someone plant a bomb here, where it could only take out the air recyclers?
Cold itches up my back.
There’s only one reason I can think of for taking out the air recyclers.
If an air circulator went out in one of the carriages, then something went wrong with the backup in the engine room, the ship’s air flow would be compromised. It wouldn’t be able to circulate around the rim or down the spokes. Carbon dioxide would build up in the inhabited areas, and dangerous pockets of oxygen would form in the ecocarriages. The Venture would trigger the emergency protocols to prevent suffocation or explosions. All the carriages would break away from the spokes that connect them to the engine room and descend to Beta.
It’s a failsafe, now that we’re in orbit. If anything threatens survival up here, the ship will automatically initiate Betafall. The ship would be destroyed, but the individual carriages will land in the breathable air of the planet, saving the crew and the crops. It’s what the ship’s designed to do — bring the carriages with all their metal and tech down to Beta, once we’re ready.
But we’re not ready. If I’m right, whoever planted this must intend to force the Venture down to Beta. Now.
There might be other bombs. They’d have to destroy the backup in the engine room, and they can’t be certain this one would take out the air circulation unit. They may have planted another bomb in the vents near a different air circulation unit to be sure.
My throat is dry, but my hands are steady. I pass the wire cutter back and forth between them. A red wire runs from the explosive to the remote sensor. The remote sensor is a simple one, like we use on doors. A binary device. Only two states: on and off, open and closed, wait or explode.
There’s no time to get help. It could be detonated from anywhere on the ship, at any moment. And I need to look for other bombs, too.
Okay. Okay. I can do this.
I reach for the wire. Put the cutters around it and pause. It’s too simple. Probably because they didn’t expect this to be found. But if it’s a trick, and I get this wrong, I’m dead. Plastered all over the inside of this vent.
But what choice do I have?
I close my eyes and squeeze the wire cutters closed.
Nothing.
I open my eyes.
The circuit is broken, wires hanging loose. I did it. I sit there, breathing in and out, feeling my blood pulsing through my skull. The box is harmless now. It’s still attached to the wall from the inside, so I unscrew it and pull it off the side of the vent. Someone will need to examine it. Check for evidence.
Now what? Who planted this? Who can I trust? We have to keep this secret, at least until we check the ship. If there are other bombs, and they know we’re on to them, they could detonate them right away.
I should tell Mom. Thank Beta she’s captain. I put the box under my arm and start crawling as fast as I can. I get to the next fan. Hit the button, wait for the fan to stop. I shove the remote in my gear bag, then start climbing through. It’s awkward because I’m hurrying and holding the bomb. There’s a clatter. I must have kicked something. I need to be quieter. I can’t draw attention to myself now. I ease my top half through the fan, but kneel on a hard object before I get my legs through.
There’s the hum of the fan rebooting.
No. Oh no.
I lunge forward through the blades before the fan can start turning and crush me.
I twist around and stare at the fan. It’s starting now, picking up speed. I breathe hard and check my arms and legs. Unscathed, thank Beta. But how did that happen? Does someone else have a remote? Do they know I’m here?
It’s only when my heart stops racing that I realize how dumb I am.
The clatter was the remote falling out of my gear bag. I must have knelt on the green button, or kicked it. Or perhaps it just landed face down and the weight of the unit was enough to press the button. I peer through the fan, the blade spinning so fast it’s invisible. I blink against the air it’s blowing in my eyes. Yes. The remote is lying on the other side. Without it, I’m trapped in this section of the vent, between two sets of whirling blades. I can’t stop the fans. I can’t get back to the washrooms.
I drop my head into my hands. Think, Ursa. Use that logical brain.
How do I get out? What will people think if I’m caught in here with a bomb? Will they believe I found it?
I doubt it, after what Yuri said about me at the hearing.
Okay. Deep breathing again. Where am I? There’s only one grille between these two fans. It doesn’t stink here, so I haven’t reached the washrooms yet. I swivel myself around in the narrow space and crawl to the grille. I peer through.
Four stained metal walls. A door that must lead out to the corridor. A protective suit hangs on the wall, but there’s no one in the room. Thank Beta. It’s a changing room.
There’s no time to be careful; someone could come at any moment. The screws are on the other side, of course. But that shouldn’t be a problem. The threads on many of them are stripped from overuse.
I listen, but it’s hard to hear anything over the whirr of the fans. I just have to go for it.
I kick the grille hard. It bends, and one of the corners pops out. Bingo. There’s enough room to get my hand through, so I pull out my screwdriver and work on the other three screws as quickly as I can. They tinkle as they hit the floor. I grab the grille before it can fall and pull it into the vent. Good. Stage one done
.
Now to get out of here. I shuffle around again. Slower this time, careful not to bash the sides. I don’t want to attract any attention.
I wiggle my legs out first, jump down to the floor, then reach back into the vent for the grille. I grab the screws from the floor and have two of them in when there’s the creak of a door handle.
There’s no time to get the screws back off and get in the vent. I shove the screwdriver in my gear bag and am wondering what on Beta I’m going to say when someone enters the small room.
A tall figure. Dressed head to toe in a protective suit.
“Ursa,” he says, deep voice muffled by the mask and hood. “What are you doing?”
Good question.
“Hi.” I try for a casual voice and slide the bomb behind me. “Just some engineering fixes. All done now.” I try to slip past, head for the other door before he can wonder what engineering fixes are needed in a changing room.
“It’s good to see you.” The figure pulls off his hood and loosens his mask so it hangs around his neck.
Jovan. Thank Beta. I should have recognized those eyes. I let go of the door.
“What’s that behind you?” he asks.
“What’s what?”
“The box you’re hiding behind your back, Ursa.”
I might as well be honest. If he planted it, he already knows what it is. I pull it out.
“It’s a bomb.”
He takes a step back, and his expression tells me it’s not his, at least.
“Don’t worry. I defused it. Someone put it in the vents. I think they’re trying to force an early separation and descent.”
“What?” His mouth falls open. He stares at me for a long moment, then looks at the bomb again. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“This one is: I defused it. But there may be more. I need to take it to Mom.”
“Is she still meeting with the executive?”
I close my eyes. “I forgot about that. I can’t just turn up to their meeting with this. I need to speak to Mom alone.”
Jovan glances at the bomb. “Will the person who put it there know you found it?”
“It was a simple bomb. No feedback circuit. I’m hoping they’ll assume it’s still functional until they try to detonate it.”
Jovan nods. “Then we have to get you to your cabin without anyone seeing you. You can talk to your mother when she comes home, in private. I’ll help.”
I exhale and fight the urge to hug him. “Thanks. I’d better get this grille on properly. You watch out for anyone trying to come in.”
Jovan moves into place, between the two doors. It takes me only a few seconds to finish screwing the grille in place. It’s good to have a lookout again. Once it’s done, I slide the bomb into my gear bag.
Jovan grabs the suit from the wall. “Get this on. It’s better if no one knows you were here. Mask first.” He holds it out, and I snap it into place around my mouth and nose.
Then he kneels in front of me and holds out the bottom half of the suit, looking up at me with his deep, dark eyes. “Here you go.”
I look away and concentrate on getting the rest of the suit on by myself.
Jovan pulls open the door to the carriage and checks outside. “Follow my lead. Act casual.” And he’s out. I head through the door, trying to walk casually. How do I normally walk? Why can’t I remember? I feel like I’m swaggering. That’s not right. A couple of genelab technicians are heading our way. Zaniah and Lyra, arguing about something.
“You had the centrifuge last,” Zaniah says. I glance at her hands as she approaches, at her long fingers. You can’t tell she lost them to frostbite. Mom did a good job attaching the lab-grown replacements.
“And I put it away,” Lyra says.
Then they both catch sight of Jovan. Zaniah quickly brushes a hand over her dark hair. Lyra tilts her head. “Hi, Jovan.”
“Lyra, Zaniah.” He nods at each as we pass.
I hope I’m not that obvious when I talk to him.
We reach the end-of-carriage doors, and I follow him through the airlocks into ecocarriage 4. I exhale. The main lights come on as we enter, switching from the UV growing lights to the full visible spectrum. There’s no one between the tanks lining the carriage walls, so we hurry down the central walkway. We speed past murky tanks, each a different color, with kelp and algae at various stages of development. We hurry past sealed vats filled with genetically modified organisms that produce essential nutrients through fermentation. Our boots clang on the metal walkway, half muffled by bubbling of the oxygen and the hum of the water circulation units and harvester filters.
The generator carriage is next, with its mess of catwalks and corridors weaving in and out of the four main barrels that hold the cells and turbines of the reactor and the pipes of coolant. The main lights are on, so there must be someone in here. I check the feeds scrolling over each of the subsystems as we pass. All are normal.
We stick to the path on the left side and pass a couple of engineers in the center at the main control panel, tending to the system: Antares and Ida, his assistant. They barely nod at us. We reach the airlocks without incident and head into the humidity of ecocarriage 3. My habitation carriage is the next one around the rim.
The system is mostly automated, so it’s quiet in here apart from the hiss of the mist feeding the plants. It feels like a long walk to the airlocks on the other side, but it’s probably less than five minutes. We hurry down the narrow corridor, glancing at the thick purple plants in the foggy air on the other side of the glass, hanging in rows stretching the length of the carriage, from the floor to the ceiling, like an impenetrable purple forest.
Jovan is striding so fast I can barely keep up, but I don’t ask him to go slower. I just listen to my ragged breath and the ringing of my boots as we hurry along the central corridor. When we’re nearly at the airlock, Jovan turns to me. “Time to strip down.” Then he shakes his head, and a cheeky grin spreads across his face. “Sorry, that sounded … well, I meant we’ll get all kinds of awkward questions if you’re in a full genelab suit in a habitation carriage.”
He’s right. I pull off the hood and mask, then lean on him to take off the rest, wobbling a bit as I struggle with the legs of the suit. “Thanks so much.”
“I barely did anything,” Jovan says, and we start walking again. “I mean, compared to you. Defusing bombs, saving the Venture. Nice work, Ursa.”
I turn to him. The ecocarriage corridor is narrow to maximize growing space. And he’s right next to me. Our eyes meet. I can’t tell if it’s the humidity or his proximity that is making my cheeks warm.
Bomb. We have to deal with the bomb. Focus, Ursa.
We reach the end of the carriage and step through the airlock onto the stairs to the two levels of the habitation carriage. As soon as we’re down on my level, we’re back among the bustle. I try to walk normally, but I’m so far from normal right now. Luckily, my cabin is the first on the left. Jovan wrenches the broken door open. I stumble in, glad to be home. Jovan follows and shuts the door behind us.
I take the defused bomb out from my gear bag and look at it properly. Maybe there’s a clue as to who made it or how they got it into the vents.
But something else occurs to me as I examine it.
“You weren’t surprised I was in the vents,” I say.
Jovan shrugs. “Everyone knows how to get into the vents. But it was obvious you and Maia found a way to get through the fans. You kept turning up in unexpected places.”
I exhale. Of course he knew. Probably everyone knew. But if everyone knows, I’m going to be the prime suspect for planting this bomb. Perhaps this was another way to frame me.
“What’s that?” Jovan says, pointing to the lump of explosive. “Is it from engineering?’
I crumble some of the white block between my finger
s. Sniff it. It’s pungent, with the sharpness of urine but also a faint smell like burning plastic. “It’s not ours. Smells like ammonia and something else. It’s pretty concentrated.” I brush it off on my work clothes.
“They use ammonium nitrate as fertilizer on Beta,” Jovan says. “It’s got to be the agricologists. Yuri and his lot.”
That makes sense. It’s a pretty basic bomb. I’d have made a better one.
“I don’t know how reliable it would be,” I say. “If I were using it, I’d plant another on a different air circulator, just in case. I’ll search the ship’s vents for more bombs. I’ll check the engine room, too, although I’m pretty sure it’s clear. I’d notice if an atom was out of place up there. They must have not finished setting up the bombs.”
“Are you going to tell your mom?” Jovan asks.
“She is captain, but …” I trail off.
“But what?”
I swallow. “She’s a stickler for rules. She’ll follow the process. Report major incidents to the executive. If Yuri’s involved, and there’s another hidden bomb, he might detonate it right away.”
Jovan looks pale. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
I slump down onto my bunk. “I don’t know who to trust.”
“We have to do something. Someone is trying to start a war.”
I feel cold. As if a crack is opening up in my world. War.
Jovan sits next to me. “We have to defend ourselves and the ship.”
“Yes, but not through fighting. We can’t make the mistakes they made on Venture 2.” I stare at the familiar cabin. Trying not to think about it blowing apart, about being sucked into space.
“But how do we stop it?” Jovan asks.
“We could tell Astra. She’s Acting Head of Protection.”
“She is? That’s great!”
“But she’s meeting with the executive now. And she’ll probably tell Mom, and then we’ve got the same problem.” I turn the bomb over, as if it could be hiding answers on the other side. White explosive. Black box. Red wire. Basic detonator. No new clues. “If we make the wrong move, we could trigger a war ourselves.”