Maintenance

Rodgers hated crawling through service corridors.

Those utility passages between Section C and D had never been meant for comfort, only access. Narrow enough that his shoulders brushed the foam sealed ribs of the hull as he worked. Emergency lights mounted along the ceiling cast a dull amber glow that flattened everything into the same color when it wasn’t swallowed by shadows. Deck plating, exposed conduits, pipes that groaned and hissed at irregular intervals.

He rolled his neck as he finally emerged back into the open air of Section D’s main passage. After setting his broom against the bulkhead, he dropped the waste tote and collapsed against a crate marked POWER RELAY HOUSING. Raising the hem of his shirt, he fanned it against his sweat drenched torso.

“No go,” he sighed, “Path only goes back to C and ends right at D. Just like Petrov said.”

“Damn,” Hughes answered, handing him a cylindrical, metal canteen stamped with the company’s letters. “Well, at least we cleared it out just in case they send us in there later.”

“Yeah,” Rodgers managed after several long glugs, still catching his breath, “It’s hot as hell in there. And a bunch of pipes that are bent out of shape. Making some spots damn near impossible to maneuver. Probably even worse deeper in. Not just bent either. Could get sliced open at any moment, and I am not taking another tetanus shot.”

“Glad you went instead of me,” Hughes silently thanked his luck for winning rock-paper-scissors as he patted his rounder belly.

Rodgers cut his eyes at him. “Yeah, well. It ain’t easy for me either. I’m easily the tallest on this ship, and those passages sure as hell weren’t built with me in mind.”

Hughes sat down beside him and gave his shoulder a friendly pat.

“You know,” Rodgers muttered after another sip from the canteen, “I signed up for this job thinking it’d be more sitting around and watching gauges. Not… whatever this all is.”

“That’s because you read the recruitment pamphlet,” Hughes patted his shoulder again before opening another maintenance panel beside him. “Those things are basically fiction.”

Rodgers scoffed, “It said competitive pay for long-haul transport work.”

“And they were correct. Ouch!” Hughes jerked back after catching a jolt from an exposed wire, “All those checks are hitting your account weekly back home.”

“Didn’t say anything about crawling through the guts of the ship.” Rodgers let his head drop between his knees.

Hughes sucked on his finger, soothing the sting as he glanced over, “That’s part of the work, unfortunately.”

With a grunt, Rodgers pushed himself upright, the sound echoing his deep resentment of the very concept of work.

Down the corridor, the ship creaked softly.

The Wayfarer had always made noises. Even before the collision. All long-haul ships did. Metal shifted when temperatures changed. Structural braces groaned as stress redistributed through the hull. One system cycled and another answered with a subtle adjustment somewhere else.

It was one of the first things new crew members learned to tune out.

Still, today every sound felt a little sharper.

Rodgers grabbed a cable coil and dragged it toward the open panel Hughes was working in. “You think the Captain’s sure about the five?”

Hughes paused for a moment, “No reason to think he wasn’t,” before continuing, slower.

Rodgers scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess… Just worried about that head wound of his. Looked bad earlier.” He nudged a few spare tools across the steel floor towards the growing pile. They clanked together, adding new tones to the steady hums of the ship.

“Yeah,” Hughes sighed.

For a moment, they worked in silence.

Then another clank.

This one came from farther down the corridor.

A dull metallic tap somewhere beyond the bulkhead to their right.

Both men froze for a second. Rodgers remained stiff while Hughes pushed his glasses up and turned toward the solid metal wall beside them.

Another faint sound followed. Something like metal being dragged against metal.

Hughes slowly stood and tilted his head. “You hear that?”

Rodgers didn’t move. He kept his back to the bulkhead and swallowed. “Hear what?”

“That,” Hughes pointed towards the entrance of Section E.

The taller of the two paused, listening. There was nothing, only the monotonous hum of the ship struggling to keep itself moving. “Ship noises?”

Hughes grunted, clearly unimpressed with his crew mate’s assessment. He stepped closer and pressed his palm against the bulkhead. Even through his leather work glove, the metal felt cold.

A faint vibration passed through it, barely noticeable.

“Could be debris,” Hughes frowned and stepped away, shaking his head, “Something loose in there.”

Rodgers sighed and shuffled towards his pile of tools, putting more distance between himself and the bulkhead behind him. He began packing them away, “Could be the hull settling. Pipes flexing. Or maybe just you looking for an excuse to stop working.”

The shorter laborer cut his eyes towards him, “That’s rich coming from you, Rodgers.”

Rodgers froze for a moment, then glanced back over his shoulder with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. Hughes could only sigh and move to help him pack up.

“But you ever think about what’s actually out there?”

Rodgers groaned as he hefted his tool case up, “Please tell me you’re not starting that again.”

“I’m serious,” Hughes huffed, “Statistically speaking, there should be life somewhere. We’ve just never encountered it yet.”

Rodgers pinched the bridge of his nose, “You’ve been reading those pulp stories, haven’t you?”

“I am just saying,” Hughes continued, “if something hit us and boarded–”

But he was cut short by Rodgers pointing at the bulkhead behind him. “That compartment is vacuum.”

“So?” Hughes stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest.

“So unless your aliens can breathe space,” Rodgers turned to leave the area with his tools, “I think we’re safe.”

Hughes opened his mouth to respond.

A heavier thud echoed through the steel under their feet. It came so suddenly that Rodgers dropped his tool case. It crashed open across the deck plates.

Neither of the two moved.

Cautiously, they both turned toward the large steel plate sealing off Section E.

Nothing moved. Only the steady hum of the corridor continued.

Rodgers swallowed, “J-just metal shifting.”

But Hughes slowly crept closer to the bulkhead and placed his ear against the cold steel.

“W-what are you doing?” Rodgers's eyes widened at the sight of his coworker doing the exact opposite of what every instinct was screaming for him to do.

“Listening,” Hughes whispered, waving a hand for Rodgers to quiet down.

Seconds passed in agonizing stillness.

Then, after what felt like a minute, or perhaps a year, Hughes pushed away from the metal door and shook his head. “You’re probably right. Just metal shifting.”

Rodgers sagged with relief, “Good. Glad we settled that. Now grab your stuff before Petrov comes back and finds more work for us.”

He bent down to collect his case again as Hughes picked up his own.

Another thud.

This time louder. And directly against the bulkhead.

Neither said a word. But they both fled on feet moving so fast they barely seemed to touch the deck. Their tools were left behind on the steel floor.