Inspection

“It’s just two years.”

“Does it really have to be that long?”

“It’s the one that pays the best for the time out.”

“Best that you can get.”

“…”

“Fine… But does it have to be that far out? Are you even going to try to call?”

“… I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t give me that bull. You and I both know there’s no way a signal will make it back in time.”

“… Yeah…”

“They are going to miss you, you know.”

“It’s for the best. I’m making sure they are getting a better life out here in the country. I’ll make enough to have them all set up. I’m sure they’ll–”

“Is that really why you’re doing this? Or just what you are telling yourself again?”

***

The corridors of Section D smelled noxiously like burnt insulation and sealant.

Petrov moved along the walkway with the steady pace of someone who knew exactly where every pipe, bracket and structural rib belonged. One hand ran flat along the wall as if he was feeling for something beneath the metal.

Foam sealant bulged from the seams where emergency reinforcement had been applied. Panels had been pulled open along the length of the passage, exposing bundled cables and temporary reroutes hastily tied together casting strange woven shadows across the floor from the emergency lighting.

Ward followed behind, the soles of his boots clanking hard against the deck plates as he tried to keep up. He was steady on his own two feet again, but the urge to lean on the crutch still lingered. Though he couldn’t do that he told himself. Bad for morale.

It was bad enough that the captain everyone looked up to already had a sizable gash on his forehead, hidden beneath a thick wrap around his head. A rough night with terrible dreams hadn’t helped.

That, though, was the least of his concerns at the moment. Petrov stopped abruptly and turned back to him in the middle of the passageway. He reached out to a support strut beside him and knocked against it with the back of his knuckles. The sound rang dull and heavy.

“You see this?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for an answer.

With tired eyes, Ward leaned closer to inspect it, his vision tracing with the curve of the metal. Even to his inexperienced eye, it had shifted a few inches inwards.

“That happened when the impact shock ran through the hull,” the chief engineer continued, “These braces weren’t designed to bend like that.”

Ward raised a brow, “And yet they did?”

“Yeah,” Petrov shook his head, “Too bad for the company.”

“What were they expecting?”

“You ever step on an empty soda can? Outside is the foot,” He slapped his hands together with a sharp clap, “and we’re in the aluminium can.”

Ward knew the answer before it was even given. What turned his stomach was how little it seemed to bother him.

“So they are holding?”

Petrov ran a hand along the bent steel, “For now.”

“That’s good, correct?”

Shrugging, the engineer turned and continued down the corridor.

Ward followed.

“When we sealed Sections E through G,” Petrov gestured toward the reinforced bulkhead ahead, “we pumped foam sealant into the support seams. That stuff expands, hardens, and locks everything in place.”

The captain studied the thick, pale ridges along the walls.

“And now?”

“Now it’s solid as a rock.” Petrov pulled a screwdriver from his belt and tapped the handle against foam. Sharp cracks echoed with each strike, but the foam held fast. “Which means if we want to reopen those sections, we have to carve through it without destabilizing the surrounding structure.”

“I guess it's not as easy as it looks?”

Petrov let out a hearty chuckle and handed Ward the screwdriver and a rubber mallet. Ward took them hesitantly and stepped into place, lining up a strike where the engineer indicated.

With careful aim and full effort, he brought the mallet down onto the back of the screwdriver, driving it into the exposed foam. The flat edge barely bit into the sealant, sending only a few crumbles scattering from the impact.

“Now, I am no sculptor,” Petrov shrugged again, a small smile playing at his cheeks, “but if you want to chisel me a David out of this, I’d be tickled pink.”

Ward flipped the tools back to their owner with a sigh, “I’d be doing more damage with that hatchet of yours.”

Instinctively, Petrov’s hands darted to the hatchet at his hip, covering it where it sat in a leather holster. His meaty hands were blocking it from Ward’s sight as he shifted a step to the side, putting space between them.

“Damn right you’ll be doing damage!” he barked out, his cheeks and brow flushing slightly.

Ward’s brow tightened as he watched the engineer try to edge away.

“Whatever,” Ward shook his head and dropped the tools to the side, “We need access. Get it done quickly. That’s an order.”

“If we rush the process, those warped braces will snap,” Petrov frowned, arms crossing over his chest.

Ward met him with an equally hard stare.

“And if that happens?”

“Soda can,” was Petrov’s only reply.

The words hung between them in the empty corridor.

After a moment, Ward gave a slow nod.

Petrov watched him for a second longer, then sighed, shaking his head, hands settling onto his hip. “Listen, Cap’n. We got cutters. Over-glorified arc welders. We’re working on it. It's just going to take time.”

“Understood.”

Silence settled again. Feeling satisfied, Petrov turned away and continued down the corridor. “We can fix the thruster imbalance. Heat exchange system too. But structural collapse?” he shook his head.

“We won't be discussing much at that point,” Ward finished.

“Good,” Petrov nodded, “You are listening.”

Ward exhaled slowly as he followed again.

Petrov shifted his weight as he walked, glancing back at his commanding officer, “For now things are stable. Crew handled the initial response well.”

Ward slowed slightly.

“Keller especially,” Petrov continued, almost offhand, “Quick thinking. Got those bulkheads started before I could even react.”

A beat.

Ward’s jaw tightened. Slowly, one hand rose to the bandage wrapped around his head, fingers gripped it slightly.

“Good,” he said, quieter now.

Petrov nodded, “Could have been worse.”

Ward didn’t respond. His attention drifted.

“Cap’n?” Petrov asked, noticing he was no longer being followed.

Ward didn’t answer.

Before the engineer could react, a series of heavy thuds echoed down the corridor. Rapid. Uneven.

Footsteps. Fast. Closing in.

Hughes and Rodgers rounded the corner, nearly colliding with their supervisor.

“The hell are you two running around like that?” Petrov barked, “Watch what you’re doing! And why aren’t you back at your posts?”

“There you are!” Hughes huffed, bent as he tried to catch his breath after skidding to a halt.

“Boss! Listen! There’s something–” Rodgers started, but Petrov cut him off.

“I asked why you two aren’t working?” His arms folded tight across his chest, a scowl pulling hard at his already severe facade, “Those who don’t work, don’t eat.”

“But there’s something out there!” Rodgers forced the words out, swallowing one fear to make room for another.

“Yeah! You and that captain are gonna want to hear this,” Hughes added, breath still uneven.

“Yeah, Captain!” Rodgers turned quickly, “Come on,we got– uh… Captain?”

All three stopped.

Ward stood a few paces off to the side, posture loose, almost casual. But his head was turned, eyes fixed down the passageway the two men had just come from. Unblinking. Unmoving.

“Captain?” Hughes gulped.

No response.

The corridor hummed softly around them, the distant churning of strained systems filling the silence between them.

Then, slowly, Ward turned back “Hm?” His gaze passed between them as if only just noticing them.

Carefully, they watched him

“Sorry,” he exhaled and scratched the back of his head near the bandage, “I think I’m still tired. I’m heading back to my quarters.”

“You OK, Captain?” Hughes asked, calmer now, nudging his glasses back into place.

“I’m fine,” he waved a hand over his shoulder as he turned away, heading towards Section C.

But after a few steps, he paused.

“There’s a leak.”

“A leak?” Petrov blinked.

Ward pointed down toward the deck without looking back. “It’s running along the conduit line,” he spoke quietly, then resumed walking, “Fix that.”

Hughes and Rodgers exchanged a glance as Ward disappeared through a closing hatch.

Petrov didn’t move at first. Only his eyes dropped to where Ward had indicated, "Condensation. Heat exchange imbalance,” then turned his attention to his crew. “You heard Cap’n. Grab your mops and buckets. Get to it.”

With that, he turned and headed off himself, already thinking through the tools he would need.

“B-but–” Rodgers tried again, but the hatch behind Petrov sealed with a heavy mechanical clunk, cutting him off.

Hughes sighed. “I’ll grab a mop. There’s rags over in the corner. Use them to get it started.”

“Right,” Rodgers’s shoulders slumped as he trudged over to the storage bin.

He knelt where Ward had pointed, brow furrowing. Slowly he reached down, his gloved hand brushing across the diamond textured metal.

He rubbed his fingers together, studying them.

Hughes returned, a mop slung over his shoulder. “So,” he asked, “how bad is it looking?”

“Dude?” Rodgers turned to his coworker, brows knitted together in confusion, “This is where we were told to clean right?”

“Uh… yeah?” Hughes glanced around, double-checking the corridor as if something might suddenly present itself.

“It’s bone dry here,” Rodgers held up his gloved hand, “There’s nothing here. No water. Nothing.”