She never yelled. She growled. “Stumpy? An extra thirty sols?”

 

She called him Stumpy for his ever-present chewed cigar stub. She only noticed he was shorter than her months later, when she saw him away from the manifest and flight counter.

 

He yanked his stogie out of his mouth. “We’re giving you extra tanks of fuel for the extra mass. Also, an extra complement of hull repair bots. Hurry up and sign so there isn’t more of a backup.” He waved at the line behind, then grinned.

 

She’s seen that face before. It's never good.

 

“That’s backwards, isn’t it? Doesn’t Mars usually send you fuel?”

 

“This isn’t for Mars; it’s for you. Two waste converters broke down, so you’re hauling it back for processing.” He watched her shake her head. “All treaties and contracts specify no human waste dumped in space.”

 

“I’m dragging a latrine?”

 

“Not the converters.” Now a smirk.

 

“I’ve been hauling rock from the Belt for almost ten years. This is my reward?”

 

“Since when do we have the choice of the freight we carry?”

 

She scrolled through the manifest.

 

“Ceres doesn’t want to send this load to Deimos any more than you want to take it. Those busted converters represent a good portion of their water supply. Think of it as an investment. Deimos will actually be grateful.”

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

“Don’t worry. All loads are wrapped in two inches of plastic. Those tough guy miners were squeamish about poo. Who knew?”

 

“Where’d the plastic come from?”

 

“They had acres of the stuff for surface shelters. Someone once had the bright idea of building a mining town out of it.”

 

She signed the contract hologram. “Crats.”

 

“Here’s some help for an emergency.” He floated a package over: baby wipes.

 

“Hilarious.”

 

“Quit whining and think outside the box. Remember your Pilot’s Guide, old timer? This is an unscheduled load and is subject to a bonus. You’re in for a nice payday. We’re finishing hooking up the extra stages now. You should be gassed up” — chuckle — “within the hour.”

 

* * *

 

“Hopper, is it me, or does the ship feel like a pile of — oh, never mind.”

 

Freighter captains don’t get to name their ships, but do name their ship’s AI. She'd named hers after a twentieth-century admiral, who was also an early computer scientist: the rare woman, back then, in a man’s job.

 

“The added mass has affected performance and required a higher-than-normal level of systems monitoring.”

 

“So you weren’t ghosting me these past few weeks.”

 

“I’m ship’s copilot. I’m incapable—”

 

“Hopper?”

 

Silence. Not the silence of travel. She could feel the ship shifting attention.

 

“Twenty minutes until shutdown. Proceed to shelter stations.” Not Hopper’s voice this time, but a standard ship’s alert, with a warning horn.

 

“HOPPER!”

 

“Captain, Ship has been notified of a solar particle event. A total systems shutdown is required. You need to prepare for EVA.”

 

“I have to leave the ship?”

 

“No. All systems are shut down to protect against catastrophic electronics damage.”

 

“Including life support?”

 

“All Ship’s systems will shut down.”

 

“Hopper, if all systems are shut down, how does the ship wake up again?”

 

“SPE sensors and batteries are shielded. Monitoring cycles on/off every thirty minutes until the danger has passed.”

 

“Are EVA suits shielded?”

 

“Negative. Only suit electronics are shielded to keep oxygen flowing.”

 

“Nineteen minutes until shutdown. Proceed to shelter stations.”

 

“Are escape pods shielded?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“So I can stay in the ship, in an escape pod?”

 

Long pause. Horns blaring.

 

“Hopper?”

 

“Captain, I cannot locate the escape pod for the Endurance.”

 

“Explain.”

 

“There is no escape pod on the ship.”

 

“Hopper, one pod per passenger is a flight requirement.”

 

“Correct, Captain. That does not change the fact.”

 

“Who’s responsible for ensuring the ship is safe to launch?”

 

“The Port Dispatcher has final responsibility for flight clearance.”

 

“When did the pod disappear?”

 

“Eighteen minutes until ship shutdown. Proceed to shelter stations.”

 

“Will you turn that alarm OFF?”

 

“Done. Escape pod checked positive on our last dock at Ceres. It appears to have been moved to make room for the additional control coupling for the unscheduled cargo and fuel. Captain, please proceed immediately to EVA checkout, as I need to shut down life support.”

 

“What is my best shielding option?”

 

“Lower deck, Ship’s stores.”

 

“Why? What’s in stores?”

 

“The supplemental water supply.”

 

“Why do I care about the water supply?”

 

“Water is hydrogen-rich, thus a good barrier for solar energetic particles.”

 

“Is there enough water to protect me?”

 

“I don’t have enough data.”

 

She tried to be more specific. “What are the odds of surviving a fatal radiation dose in stores?”

 

“Insufficient data.”

 

If Hopper wouldn’t tell her to stay in the ship, the ship wasn’t going to save her.

 

She’d seen men die of radiation. She could EVA without a suit; that would be quick. She could EVA without a tether; she might get lucky. Neither option appealed. The idea of leaving Hopper scared her more.

 

“Captain, without voice override, life support shuts down in twenty seconds.”

 

“Approved.” She and Hopper were a team, two against—

 

“Captain, I need you to prepare for life support shutdown.”

 

“All right, Hopper, this is what I want you to do...”

 

* * *

 

He ducked beneath the counter as soon as he saw her.

 

“Relax, Stumpy.”

 

“I swear we didn’t catch the screw-up until two sols after you launched.”

 

“You don’t tell me about the water IN the waste, I don’t figure out hydrogen was sitting there. Hopper opened the waste tank with the hull-bots, then sealed me back in. And that plastic sheeting: know what that’s made of?”

 

She had to laugh at the sight of his cigar nodding back and forth.

 

“Polyethylene, C2H4; even more hydrogen. So thanks.” She grinned.

 

“Okay, what’s this REALLY costing me?”

 

“You might lose my duty roster for a while. I have to find a misplaced escape pod.”

 

He grunted.

She shouted as she headed out, “And Stumpy, sometimes it pays to think inside the box.”