I spooned things onto my plate and gingerly added a small spoonful of anonymous, grey paste in one untenanted corner of my plate. The sign proclaimed it to be pork casserole, but it looked very similar to some of the glues I had used earlier today.


    Cynthia and I walked over to an empty table. It looked like Cynthia was also trying some of the grey paste. I ate some salad as she worked up her courage to try it. I had no qualms about letting someone else hazard the food they served here. I’m not stupid, and I know perfectly well that anything the cooks come up with is served here at least ten times – and they only serve it to those higher up if the trays are cleared the last five times.


    This was the pork casserole’s first appearance here, so it could either be a good thing or a really, really bad thing. Cynthia made a face and quickly lifted her napkin to her mouth to politely get rid of the offending food before taking a big drink to get the taste out of her mouth.


    And caution pays off once more... “That bad, huh?”


    She shuddered lightly as she replied, “That was almost as bad as last week’s soup.”


    That was not a good thing. I eyed up the paste on my own plate and carefully used a corner of my napkin to remove the tiny spoonful from my plate lest it contaminate everything else from its isolated corner.


    "Ah, here you two are." Logan slid into a seat beside Cynthia. The computer technician looked at Cynthia and me with his usual upbeat manner, "Did you hear that there is a huge software update happening tomorrow after lunch? The official announcement will probably come out later tonight since they just told me, but quite a few have already heard the news."


    I may splice wires and stuff, but Logan and his two co-workers did everything that was related to fixing computers or ensuring the software was up to date.


    Cynthia looked at him in curiosity. "No, we haven''t heard anything yet. How many systems are they updating? The sprinkler timers always go haywire whenever they update the software on that system..."


    He shrugged. "There are dozens of small updates, although I don''t think the sprinkler system will be impacted. One of the bigger updates is the thruster software since its current issues are due to the outdated software. One company had a huge blowout on an upgrade to the Main Database Console, and the Captain paid a pretty penny for it even with that discount. That system hasn''t been updated in decades, so this will be a huge improvement."


    I inquired, “When are they doing this update? Are we going to lose artificial gravity?”


    Thrusters weren’t something you wanted to update while docked in case they kicked in momentarily or sputtered when firing up, but if we lost gravity, it sometimes created less than entertaining situations in the cargo holds. The retraining straps were just as reliable as the rest of the aged equipment on this ship.


    Logan shrugged. “Mid-afternoon. The thrusters are being taken offline during this update. We’ll also upgrade the ship’s AI at the same time, which means we’ll be on basic life support with no surplus power until the upgrade is complete. We’re hoping we won’t lose gravity, but it’s a possibility. No more than an hour at most.”


    “Thanks. I’ll have to ensure the big equipment is all strapped down.” There was nothing like having a loader float above you to get your heart racing in freefall when anti-grav might kick in at any time.


    I grinned in relief. "Thanks."


    “No problem.” He dug his spoon into the grey paste on his plate.


    I kept a straight face. “Hey Logan, I dare you to put a bowlful of that stuff on the snack table in the Bridge by the dipping sauces.”


    He paused before examining both the paste and my expression. I had plenty of practice in hiding my true emotions. The faintest glint of mischief may show in my eyes, but only those who knew me well could spot it. My wording would have given it away though.


    He slowly put his spoon back down. “And what is in it for me if I do?”


    All of us knew he would never do such a thing. Pulling such a stunt with the Captain and Bridge crew could easily get him fired and left at the next planet we docked at.


    I passively responded, “I will let you win the next chess game.”


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    “That isn’t a game. It is an archaic system that in no way makes allowances for spaceships and space travel.”


    “Please try the paste. It will convey the exact message that I have for such a response.” Chess was a perfectly good game as far as I was concerned. It may have been so old that it creaked, but the strategy it taught was still useful. I had grown fond of it during my time at university.


    Logan wasn’t about to attempt it to see what message I was referring to. “And this is why I rarely eat here. I think I will go in search of my team and have lunch with them. Why the cooks keep trying to poison you trainees is beyond me. It just gives the medics more work.”


    “Traitor. Where is your courage?”


    He refused to give into my faint challenge, simply stating, “My courage simply prefers to dine on fancier fare. So, I will bid you a good evening.”


    Logan wandered off, probably in search of food that wasn’t so dubious. He had been on this ship long enough that he was no longer considered a trainee. In other words, he gets to eat decent food with the Overseers and other long-term crew.


    Cynthia and I managed to finish the rest of our supper, and since we were both expecting calls from family members, we headed off to our private quarters. One big unexpected perk on this ship was that everyone got their own room. It may be just big enough for a small bed, but we didn’t have to share it with others.


    *   *   *


    I got up the next morning and headed down to the showers. I brushed out my short blonde hair after getting dressed. The strands of hair were shorter than my fingers, but long hair was a nuisance in my position.


    I went down for breakfast and visited once more with Cynthia before I got ready for my shift. I checked the Analyzer and opened up the system to see what work was on my schedule today.


    Some routine maintenance had to be done on the lifts, but that was all that was assigned to the Cargo Bay. I opened up the Maintenance section and winced at the long list. It had almost doubled overnight, although that was typical on an older ship of this size. Anything from a burnt out light to regular maintenance, like cleaning the air filters, would appear on this list.


    Days like this made me glad for my Analyzer’s powerful software. I hit a few buttons as I ran a pre-programmed sorting function that I had made. It took into account how long the work ticket had been open, where it was located on the ship, as well as several other factors as it organized them for me. It sorted them so that I would not be running from one end of the ship to the other or potentially overlooking older tickets. It also made sure that anything regarding the Cargo Bay was at the top of my list.


    Mack had never once shown up at his office on time, but I still planned to head to the Cargo Bay first. It was policy and procedure, and I didn’t want to risk getting officially reprimanded if Mack somehow appeared there one day and didn’t see me show up.


    The lifts took me about half an hour to tend to, but that was it. There was nothing left to do in the cargo holds, which was another reason I didn’t mind doing the small work tickets for Maintenance.


    The Analyzer beeped, and I glanced at it as it added a ticket above the rest of my list. It was a medium priority ticket. Since I had finished up here, I went straight to the cooking area to see why one of their stoves had suddenly stopped working. The software even told me what was likely broken from the details, as well as suggesting various items that I would potentially need. It made it easy to decide which tools to take with me.


    The dozens of small tasks kept me moving throughout the morning and, thankfully, most were really easy fixes. I paused as I opened up the next ticket. I always read the ticket in detail before heading in that direction, just so I knew what I was getting into. How did this ticket get this high on my list? It was only opened three days ago, and it is marked as low importance.


    I skimmed the details; a bedroom air vent circulation fan was making a low squealing noise. I scrolled through more details, and my eyes widened as I realized why it had jumped the queue. One of the Navigators had submitted this ticket, but he had miscategorised it, which was why Steve hadn’t caught it. He always did their tickets the very first day, and they were not aware of the usual wait time for tickets.


    I didn’t dare complete this ticket myself. For starters, I didn’t have access to personal quarters unless the person let me in, not to mention that I didn’t have access to that level of the ship.


    There were two ways I could go about this. I could ignore it and let Steve take the fall for not keeping the wait time at an acceptable level. Or, I could let Steve know so he could catch it before the Officer got too upset.


    As much satisfaction as I would get from watching him being reprimanded, it would be far better to have him grateful or indebted to me for helping him. I would just have to be careful about how I went about this...


    I touched the communication device pinned to my shirt. “Rachel to Steve in Maintenance.” A small beep let me know that I had a connection lined up.


    “Hey Steve, do you have a moment?” The small beep let me know that the message was recorded and successfully transmitted to Steve’s communication device.


    “I suppose. I am pretty busy though.” The sound of pool balls clattering in the background told me exactly how busy he was, despite the big upgrade they planned after lunch.


    “Can you please take a look at work ticket D385? I don’t have access to that level of the ship.”


    “Give me a minute.”


    My unofficial duties had given me access to most areas on the spaceship, but he would have to upgrade my access or do that ticket himself. He almost always just granted access, but the instant he looked at the level that room was on, he would realize just who lived there.


    “I am unable to grant access to that level, so I will look after this one personally.”


    “Thanks, Steve.” I knew his excuse for what it was, but it allowed him to keep his pride intact, which would keep him from getting mad at me.


    Having any Overseer or higher ranking crew member furious and out for revenge was not a good thing.