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The computer finishes its boot process and brings up a screen I’ve never seen before. I can tell it means trouble, because the word “TROUBLE” is in large type across the top.
Gone are the pleasant user-interface buttons and widgets from before the blackout. This screen is just three columns of white text on a black background. The left is all Chinese characters, the middle is Russian, and the right is English.
I guess under normal operation, the ship changes language based on who is reading the screen. And this “safe boot”–equivalent screen doesn’t know who will be reading it so it’s in all our languages.
“What is happen, question?”
“This screen came up with information.”
“What is wrong, question?”
“Let me read!”
Rocky can be a real pain in the butt when he’s worried. I read the status report.
EMERGENCY POWER: ONLINE
BATTERY: 100%
ESTIMATED TIME REMAINING: 04D, 16H, 17M
SABATIER LIFE SUPPORT: OFFLINE
CHEMICAL ABSORPTION LIFE SUPPORT: ONLINE. !!!LIMITED DURATION, NON-RENEWABLE!!!
TEMPERATURE CONTROL: OFFLINE
TEMPERATURE: 22°C
PRESSURE: 40,071 PA
“The ship’s keeping me alive, but not doing anything else right now.”
“Give me generator. I fix.”
“First I need to find it,” I say.
Rocky slumps.“You not know where you ship parts are, question?!”
“The computer has all that information! I can’t remember all that!”
“Human brain useless!”
“Oh, shut up!”
I climb down the ladder to the lab. The emergency lighting is on in here too. Rocky follows along in his tunnel.
I reach down, grab my tool bag, and continue onward to the next ladder. He continues following me.
“Where you go, question?”
“The storage area. It’s the only place I haven’t completely searched. And it’s the very bottom of the crew compartment. If the generator is accessible to the crew, that’s where it’ll be.”
Once in the dormitory, I crawl into the storage space. My arm hurts. I climb around to inspect the bulkhead with the fuel bay. My arm hurts more.
At this point, my arm just always hurts, so I try to ignore it. But no more painkillers. They just make me too stupid. I lie back in the storage compartment and let the pain subside a bit. There must be access panels in here, right? I can’t remember the exact layout of the ship, but critical equipment is probably inside the pressurized area. For this very reason. Right?
How do I find it, though? I’d need x-ray vision to know where—oh, hey!
