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Fear returns to her face, and she lies down again on the pillow. Her eyes cut into mine as I leave the room. She’s searching for meaning she won't find.
First, I have to make sense of it myself. She didn’t hear the words coming from her lips while she slept. I did.
I was on my rounds for the night, checking the sensors on Bay 4, as they’d been faulty in the past few days when I heard her. Her voice rang in the still air, and one word said over and over again pulled me to her like a magnet. I came to her bed and found her tossing the word in a fevered dream. “Ishani. Ishani.”
It was curious then, seeing the sweat on her brow, so I climbed in next to her to watch it unfold. Something about it felt almost haunting, and for a moment, I pictured myself with the glittering gold skin of the Ishani rather than my own coal-black complexion.
It’s something I don't have time for. Haunching through the shuttle, I make my way back to Bay 4. While clinking my tools away with the control panel on the bay doors, I’m pulled back into the vision of her resting on her pillow. At least she looks healthier now, though I’m beginning to wonder if humans have the endurance to live here on the shuttle for long.
“Hmph,” I muttered to the faulty wiring. “Get a grip, Karvex.” She’s my human, nothing more. Her well-being is only a practical concern, and with that, I rattle back towards rationality. Something had gotten a hold of me, but it could be dealt with. Like this faulty wiring, I can simply ply it with centripetal tape, and the cracks will be gone, just like that.
As I put the wiring back into place, I feel a sense of relief that she did make it through the night. I shrug it away, chalking it up to her decent grasp of shuttle work and the fact that she’s grown useful around here. That’s all it is, I tell myself. Who wouldn't want a useful crew member? Slave or not, she’s part of the crew now.
She probably won’t last long anyway, no matter how useful she’s turned out to be. Humans are easily the most fragile species in the known universe. I could hardly get attached to something so flimsy as a human. Maybe it would be better to find the next available atmosphere and drop her there.
The click of the panel back into place feels like finality over the whole idea. Humans are a sickly liability. It’s too much to think she can ever truly adjust to life with the Reapers.
I walk back to the control room, switching off the beeping sensor on Bay 4. The control panel blinks in front of me, waiting for a command. “LIP, give me a search, 20 clicks in any direction for the closest atmosphere acceptable for a human.”
“Readout suggests Asteroid D4319 is habitable, 7 clicks. Shall I set a course?” the AI responds quickly. Easy as it would be to say the words and drop Alana, I can't form the picture of it in my mind. I could see the asteroid, the rugged terrain, and the emptiness of space beyond. But to actually leave her there alone? I just can’t see it.
“Karvex! Where’s your head?” Renari is shouting, but I can't gather what it's about. “What is going on with Bay 4? I thought you fixed that panel. We’re leaking air!” I look down and see the sensor is blinking. I reach down and flip the switch back on only to hear it buzzing like hell.
“I fixed it, but it must be broken somewhere else on the line.”
“LIP, give me an assessment.”
“Cargo Bay 4 shows systemic damage to the hull.” I rush around the room, flipping sensors and adjusting controls in the hope that inspiration will strike. Finally, I realize, there’s nothing for it but to try to fix it myself.
“Can we go in?” I ask Renari.
“No, the door’s been compromised. I have to close compartment C and lock the rest of the shuttle down.”
“The human is on C, you know that.” A picture of ice-gray eyes and jet-black hair comes to mind.
“Who cares?” he protests, coming across the bridge to meet me face to face. The red in his eyes glows hot with rage.
“The gold is on C, too, idiot,” I remind him. I don’t expect the civilian lives to matter, but the gold ought to tug at something, if not his heart.
“Captain, we need orders,” a crewmate wails from beyond him. I’m focusing on his eyes.
“Ever since you stole that human, you've been off your game.” He glares, challenging me. It isn't like him, but I don't care. I’m not losing that compartment or that human.
“I need six minutes to lock down compartment C.”
“Sirs, even if we lock down C, there’s still a 76.3% chance of hull breakage,” LIP responds automatically.
“LIP, aim for D4319.”
“Aye aye,” LIP responds. “Redirecting to asteroid D4319.”
“Karvex, what the fuck!” Renari yells, his temper rising.
“Six minutes!” I demand, grasping my multitool on my way out. Alarms are blaring throughout the hatch as the sound of running boots fills my ears. In the heat, I want to rush to Alana, but if I don’t lock down compartment C, I won’t be able to do anything for her or anyone else.
I double-time it back to Bay 4 and see that the latch hanging off the hinge of the doors on Bay 4 has buckled under the weight, revealing a massive hole in the door. By the looks of it, I don't have six minutes. I have six seconds.
On instinct, I rip the control panel door off of Bay 4 in a massive pull of strength and hurl it at the open gap. It blocks the hole with a hiss as the vacuum of space pulls at it from the other side. Grabbing my centripetal tape from my side, I grip it into place.
