When I finally found the galley, a room with a low ceiling and dusty yellow lights, James was there, drinking coffee and writing in a notebook. His hair appeared freshly washed and instead of his jumpsuit he wore a clean white T-shirt and sweats. One shoe on his uninjured foot.
He watched me slowly open cabinets and drawers packed with food and supplies. I discovered enough oatmeal, egg powder, and dried beans in one cabinet to feed a crew of twenty for a year. In another, at least a hundred pounds of vacuum-packed beef and fish jerky. Also huge sacks of sugar and coffee, and packages of dried vegetables and fruit—apples, bananas, raisins, carrots, peas, yams.
After the thin provisions on the Sundew I was dazed by the quantity and variety of the food. I found a glass and drank some water, still staring at the cans and containers of food. Then I reconstituted a packet of dried milk, scooped some cereal into a bowl, and sat down across from James.
But when I looked at my food my stomach turned.
It’s the silt, he said. The next morning it’s rough. His voice was easier than it had been the night before. He got up, balanced on his good foot, and poured coffee into another mug.
I raised my spoon and lowered it without taking a bite.
He held himself steady with the back of my chair. Drink this. He handed me the mug and his skin had a soapy smell.
I don’t drink coffee.
Today you should.
I took a sip. It tasted terrible.
He grabbed his notebook and his crutches and hopped to the door. I thought he was going to leave but he didn’t. He leaned in the doorway, his bandaged foot hovering an inch above the floor.
Keep drinking, he said.
After more sips from the mug my limbs started to feel lighter, my head clearer. I managed a bite of cereal. The pain in my back molars had returned so I chewed on the left side.
So what’s the plan? I asked. Are there daily checklists or what?
I’ve got to haul water tanks.
I gestured to his foot. How are you going to do that?
You’re going to help me I guess.
Good. I spooned cereal into my mouth until my bowl was empty. What did you do to life support? I asked. It’s a system I know, but when I opened up the box it’s completely rewired. And the ducts are silent—
I made it better.
How?
You’re not actually interested in that.
I am.
He showed me the modifications he’d made to the life support system, moving down the corridors slowly with his crutches, and how the station’s power supply worked—a snaking system of conduits that drew power from the solar fields. And a smaller-scale molten salt battery system that had been a pilot project when the Gateway was established. I’d worked on a similar project at Peter Reed and I wanted to see how he’d dealt with the heat transfer issues we’d experienced in the lab.
But something simpler demanded our attention—the sink in the laundry module had a leak. We gathered the tools we needed and spread some towels on the floor. It was a tight squeeze to get at the pipes because they were installed behind a filtration unit, and the smell of laundry detergent and plastic piping filled my nose as I wriggled behind the drum filter. James leaned over the top of the sink, his weight on his good foot.
I tightened the valves first and they squeaked as I turned my wrench. The last time I’d done a job like this I had zero gravity to contend with. This was much easier, although more than once I absentmindedly tried to press the wrench to my pant leg where a strip of Velcro would have been.
I asked him to run the water and the leak lessened but didn’t stop. Do you have a basin wrench?
Hold on. I heard the rattle of him digging in the tool kit.
But tightening the base nut did nothing.
James unscrewed the faucet and pointed a flashlight into the cabinet below. I blinked in the bright light. I know the leak isn’t in my eye.
He moved the flashlight to the pipes above my head.
Tighten the valves? he asked.
I did that already. I think there’s more than one thing going on—
I squinted at the plastic joints above my head and then loosened the nuts that connected them. I need a bucket, I said, and reached out my hand.
I wedged the bucket under the joints and eased off the P trap. Salty water splashed into the bucket and onto my face.
Damn. Water falls downward here.
He laughed. It does.
I dried my face with my T-shirt and peered into the P trap. Do you have extra joints? This pipe is corroded with sediment.
No, but we can scavenge.
We walked together to the north corridor, James slow on his crutches, and passed through a series of modules I hadn’t seen yet. There were more bunks, with four or six beds to a room. And then the corridor unexpectedly opened up and we were in a large, dim room. Rows and rows of blank computer faces looked back at me.
The control room, I said. I switched on the light and nothing happened.
I’ve got the power shut off, he said.
I took out the flashlight I had in my pocket and pointed it into the large, dusty room. I remembered my uncle’s drawing of this module, the new and gleaming equipment, and the excitement in his voice when he talked about it. They were going to run the Explorer program out of this outpost, I said. I swept my flashlight beam over the tops of dark computers, straight-backed chairs, and a wall of screens at the front of the room. Starting with the second mission.
Yes.
The one you were supposed to command.
Right. Come on.
Is it still here?
Endurance? Yes, it’s still here. He gestured out a porthole. Quarter of a mile that way.
I felt a ripple of excitement. NSP’s second explorer, the exact replica of Inquiry, was steps from where I stood. Can I see it?
The hangar’s sealed up, he said.
Why?
He waved me out of the control room with his crutch. Honestly I think NSP’s forgotten it’s here.
He led me to a large bathroom with rows of sinks and toilet compartments. We can grab what we need from here, he said, and we set to work dismantling the piping from the first sink in the row.
37
Every morning was the same. Me eating cereal, him leaning in the doorway. He was in the galley when I got there, no matter how early I rose. I would pour myself cereal and we would talk about the work there was to do that day. The maintenance crew had arrived—a group of four men who spoke to one another in Russian and split their time between the satellite station and the Gateway. They took care of the solar fields and power and life support at both locations. But the Gateway had hundreds of systems and rooms upon rooms of equipment. Most of it was unused or off-line but still routinely checked, as if a full crew might arrive at any moment and the Gateway would again become a fully operational research and control station. Keeping up with all those checklists was up to James and me.
We worked long days, twelve, sometimes fourteen hours, almost always together because of James’s injured foot. Then one morning he wasn’t in the galley. I ate my breakfast alone, and aside from the buzz of the yellow overhead light, the only sound was the scrape of my spoon against the bottom of my bowl. It was odd to sit there without his frowning face in the doorway. The airlock was open to the dim corridor outside, to the lumbering expanse of connecting corridors and modules. A labyrinth of dark and empty space.