“Hmm... a little more to the left,” Marlee Arlett says to herself as she looks at the picture of the original Deus Ex Machina she is trying to mount in her quarters. She spent a good chunk of credits having this picture made, so she wants it to look perfect.
She would ask for help in mounting it on the wall, but her crew mates have already mocked her mercilessly for “wasting” so much money on it. Her pointing out that it is an actual, physical picture, and not a projection or a digital image did little to impress them.
Taking advantage of the fact that they are still two days out from Mars, where they will sell their current load of salvage, Marlee decided that giving her quarters a really thorough cleaning for the first time since they purchased the ship would be a good idea. It would also be a good opportunity to hang her picture, although that seems to have eaten up a lot more of her time than she had expected; two hours so far.
Marlee unlocks the picture from the wall over her dresser again, moves it a little bit to the let, and then steps back again. She runs her hands through her short, spiky hair, grumbles quietly, and moves back to unlock the picture again.
She just about has the picture straight when the sound of her door alarm chiming startles her, and she accidentally locks the picture to the wall in a way that makes it look like it is dive-bombing her dresser. She frowns, curses, and then walks over to the door.
The door to the hallways quietly slides open to reveal the faces of Torlo Norrison and Sarna Del Rathi. Despite both being from Luna, Sarna always looks more pale than Torlo due to her jet black hair. They both have guilty looking grins on their faces.
“Hey, Mar,” Torlo says in a way that is supposed to seem non-chalant, but fails.
“Hi Marlee,” Sarna says, and then looks over the shoulder of the pilot of the Deus Ex Machina II into her quarters, “Wow! Your room is really clean!”
“Thank you,” Marlee says in a voice that she thinks hides her annoyance at being disturbed well.
“No, Mar, this is like really clean, what's up? Are you gonna finally invite Bruce to your room?” Torlo asks.
“I'd sooner invite him out an airlock without an e-suit. If you must know, I've been reading a book that says in order to have inner calm you must have a calm, clean environment.”
“Does it say to hang your pictures crooked too?” Torlo asks, pointing the the picture of their old ship.
Marlee's lips thin, “Did you come here for a reason, or was I just next on your list of people to annoy?”
“Oh, yeah,” Torlo says, looking guilty again, “There's been a little accident. It's nothing huge, we just need your help to fix it.”
Marlee's eyes go wide, “What? What did you do?” she grabs her datapod off the bed, and switches the display from a page of 'Deep Space, Deep Self' to a status report of the ship's major systems.
Scrolling through the data on the screen, Marlee sees that the engines are working fine, there are no hull breaches, and weapons are all operational. The engines are down to twenty percent capacity, but that's because Polly is working on them. There are no fire alarms; in fact everything looks fine until she comes across one flashing red icon.
“Life support?” she shouts loud enough to make Sarna and Torlo cringe, “You disabled the life support? Why the frass would you do that?”
“It was an accident,” Torlo said, “It just sort of broke.”
Without saying anything else, Marlee pushes between her shipmates and runs down the hallway.
By the time Sarna and Torlo catch up with Marlee in engineering, she has already been down there long enough to work herself up into quite a state of distress. She turns to face the pair and they see she is clutching a black and white ball in her arms.
“Football?” Marlee screams and throws the ball at Torlo and Sarna, who have to duck to avoid being hit, “You were playing football in engineering? I know you are practically a child Sarna, so I expect it from you, but Torlo, you're a frassing adult! Oh, who am I kidding, you've been a child for as long as I've known you.”
“Marlee, calm down,” Torlo says, “The cargo bays are full; we didn't have anywhere else to play.”
Marlee's hands clench into fists so hard that they shake. When she speaks, the words are distinct and full of restrained rage, “There are five of us on this ship, this huge ship, and you couldn't find somewhere else to play that wouldn't put our lives at risk? You couldn't find something else to occupy your time?”
“It's not that big a deal-” Torlo starts.
“Yes, Tor, yes, it is a big deal!” Marlee holds out her datapod so that Torlo and Sarna can see the screen, “This is how much pure oxygen we have left, you see that? One day!”
Marlee points to the hole in the side of the piece of machinery behind her and to the thick hose laying on the floor that is supposed to connect to the hole, “That, as you know, is our oxy scrubber, and without the pump you broke, it doesn't work. With that running we have enough breathable air to last us two weeks, without it, one day. Unfortunate for us that we are still two days out from Mars then, isn't it?”
“So we ride out the last day in Boxxy, and wear e-suits while we dock; it'll be fine.”
“Do you remember what it was like in Boxxy? The three of us living in an Evader? There's five of us now, and I will be damned if I am going to spend an entire day in close quarters with Bruce Diamond.”
“Bruce is okay,” Sarna says.
“Bruce is a pig; he may be a decent pilot, but he is a pig!”
“He doesn't bother me,” Sarna adds.
“He's a pig, not a child molester,” Marlee looks Torlo in the eyes as she says this.
“Hey!” Torlo shouts.
“I'm twenty Terran years old,” Saran protests, “Torlo is only five years older than me, and I am getting tired of you calling me a child.”
“Oh? What are you going to do about it? You gonna have big brother Zane come beat me up, because I know you can't fight for feec!”
“Marlee,” Torlo warns, putting an arm in front of Sarna before she can take the older woman's challenge.
“You want to take a swing at me, Tor? Come on then! I'm tired of limiting myself to the punching bag!”
Torlo speaks evenly, “Mar, I am sorry that we broke the oxy scrubber, but you are crossing the line here. You are getting really worked up again, and you need to stop before you say something you can't take back.”
Marlee sneers at Torlo, but take a breath. She forces herself to remember what she had been reading in “Deep Space, Deep Self” and takes a deep breath. She takes another, and another, and another, and despite the anxiety in her head about using up oxygen, she can feel the redness leaving her face , and a more controlled state returning to her mind.
“Okay,” Marlee says, her mind a little clearer now, “Okay, lets figure out what we're going to do.”
“I figured you would just replace it. I checked, we have a spare pump,” Torlo says, “I would do it, but I don't want to risk breaking it.”
Marlee grits her teeth, “Why didn't you tell me we had a spare?”
“You were rather busy yelling at us.”
Marlee closes her eyes for a second, “Okay, lets go get it then.”
After a trip to Polly's storage room, and a long hunt for the right box, the trio return pushing the replacement pump for the oxy scrubber packed inside a plasteel crate on a wheeled cart.
Torlo and Sarna wait while Marlee painstakingly removes the outer housing of the oxy scrubber to reveal its inner workings. She sets the pieces she removes from the scrubber gently on the floor, keeping everything neat and organized to make sure nothing gets lost.
“You're going to need to help me get this out; it's too heavy for me to move alone,” Marlee says, “but be careful; we don't want to damage anything else in there.”
Slowly Torlo and Marlee slide the heavy pump out. They both grunt as it slides free from the scrubber, dropping its full weight into the pair's arms.
“Gently,” Marlee reminds through clenched teeth as the pair shuffle the broken pump away from the rest of the oxy scrubber. It thuds loudly as they put it on the floor as gently as possible.
The process is repeated in reverse with the new pump. Sarna helps to dismantle the sides of the crate while Marlee and Torlo lift.
“Slide it in very, nngh, slowly, Tor,” Marlee says as the balance the end of the pump in the opening of the oxy scrubber, “so why did you, guh, come to me for this and not Polly? This is really more of her thing.”
“Because she said she would castrate me, nnnn, after the last time.”
“Last time?”
“Last time what?” Polly Sharon asks, and the trio all turn to face her so fast that they almost drop the new pump. The red-haired mechanical whiz is standing a few yards away with her hands behind her back. The lenses of her infospecs obscure her eyes as usual, “So what is going on here?” her voice is even and emotionless as always.
“Just, uh, a little maintenance work?” Marlee asks.
“That's funny,” Polly walks closer, “You see, I did work on this unit last week, and it didn't have a broken pump then.”
“Umm,” Torlo begins, “we were-”
“Playing football down here again,” Polly says, bringing her hands around to her front. In the palm of her right hand is Torlo and Sarna's football, “I thought I had made myself clear about this.”
“Polly, it was an accident,” Marlee says, struggling to keep holding the scrubber pump up.
Polly drops the ball and points to the pump, “Are you guys going to hold that all day?”
“Torlo, just slide it in gently,” Marlee says, and starts to very slowly push the pump into its slot, “This is a very delicate piece.”
“No it is not,” Polly says, steps forwards, and shoves the pump roughly into place with one hand as if it weighed nothing, “see? Simple.”
Marlee staggers back, gasping, “Polly, be careful!”
Polly turns the lenses of her specs on Marlee, “Mar, honey, go fly the ship and let me finish cleaning this up,” she then bends down and begins roughly scooping up the neat piles of parts into her hands and starts fitting them back into place as if it were nothing more complex than a child's puzzle.
“Are you mad?” Sarna asks.
Polly stops, and turns to look at Sarna; the younger woman can see herself in the lenses the ginger's glasses, “Do I look mad?”
“It's kind of hard to tell with the specs on,” Sarna answers slowly.
“Hmm, well then,” Polly turns back to her work.
Sarna continues to stand there until Torlo places a hand on your shoulder and starts to guide her away.
“Do you think she's mad?” Sarna asks quietly.
“I'm not one hundred percent sure she even feels emotions,” Torlo replies.
“Torlo,” Polly calls over her shoulder, “We will talk about this later.”
“She's definitely not happy though.”
“You don't think she'll really hurt you, do you?” Sarna asks.
“That depends on whether or not she's on her meds,” Torlo puts his arm around Sarna's shoulder, “Come on, little girl, let's go have a last supper.”
“Don't you start that little girl feec too, you old pervert!”
Torlo raises his eyebrows, “If you don't watch your language, you're not going to get any desert.”
“Oh!” Sarna exclaims, “Your football!”
“Belongs to me now, children,” Polly says, “You have lost your football privileges. Please leave before you annoy me.”
Sarna and Torlo leave quickly.