The blinking red light at the end of the hall sent Quinns’ heart to his stomach. He ran, losing his footing as he whipped around the corner. Sliding on his right foot, he caught his left hand on the edge of the entrance, dragging himself back to balance. There before him, his work was quiet with failure. His chest ached. The dry run had tripped up and made an emergency stop.


    He moved closer for a better look. The connectors were twisted, two of them cracked in a similar way to the ones he replaced. He moved around it trying to see how the moving parts might have gone so off course. The film was back, but stickier, gunking up the hydraulics. He should have stayed to watch, but he had been so sure.


    “Dammit!” He lashed out, kicking the workbench. Unlocked, the bench tipped and slammed down on its side. Tools and parts scattered, spilling across the floor. He remembered leaving it unlocked – the injector was going to be a quick fix after all.


    The blinking red light strained his eyes and the thick scent of oil in the air teased the bile at the back of his throat. He stumbled back, he needed everything to stop. Instead, his thoughts started to race. He was back at square one with the injector. But the leak in the bridge respite was the priority now. He wouldn’t get another shot at the injector until the leak was fixed. Ah, but then something else would break. An endless string of system issues stretched out before him. His stomach heaved, but nothing came up.


    He looked up at the machine again, wiping spit from his jaw. No, he was going to fix this now. He scanned the floor for the first tool he would need and scooped it up on his way back to the machine. Flicking off the error message, he started the disassembly. As he focused, his nausea lifted and his soreness disappeared. Removing broken connectors with gentle twists, cleaning away the film. The world around him faded away as he worked. He didn’t notice the blinking light in his arm, and he certainly didn’t notice the time flying by.


    ***


    Gareth knew someone might tease him for acting like a dog looking for praise, but he tried to ignore it. Serge was missing some things he needed for the repair. He turned to Gareth for help.


    You got history with the ship, right? He’d asked with that dry look on his face. Yes, in fact, Gareth did know the ship. His ship. So with a gasket in one hand, and a tool in the other, he was on his way back to the rest area. He walked with an energetic stride, excited for the first time in what felt like too long.


    Shore leave had not been the peaceful break he hoped it would be. There were the normal difficulties – lining up a new job, buying and selling cargo, and organizing maintenance. It was the new ones that had him so irritated. The Hayes docking at Gomori. It may only be a follow-up procedure for the inspection, but it irked him anyway. Dupont had not messaged him yet, but the possibility soured his spirits. Then today, Quinns had brushed him off the moment he tried to bring up overworking. Quinns must actually believe he was hiding how exhausted he looked.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Gareth glanced at the tool in his hand. It wasn’t just exhaustion that was hurting Quinns, it was pressure. He had more riding on his shoulders in the past year than he had his entire life. And, of course, Quinns was quiet about it. Avoiding any mention of it. Gareth didn’t like putting him under this stress, but he needed him. Thus why Gareth was so excited now – he was helping. If only a little.


    He rounded the corner in the rest area and opened the bathroom door. The smell of industrial-strength cleaner hit him first. Then a hint of something floral. Inside he saw two legs sticking out of the open panels and the sound of furious scrubbing. He moved closer, deciding how he might get Serge’s attention. A colorful porcelain vase was sitting among the tools. Vapour drifted from several small openings, the source of the flowery scent. Its intricate design made Gareth think that Sachi must have stopped by as well.


    “I got the items you requested,” Gareth called. The legs twitched and Serge pulled himself out from between the panels. He was sweating hard, his face bright red with exertion. He caught his breath and looked over the tool and gasket.


    “Right on,” He said with a nod. “Thanks, Captain.” He set them down among the other tools in a spot left open for their arrival.


    “Glad to help. Though I feel I should be thanking you right now.” Gareth said. Serge picked up a clean rag from the pile next to him and wiped his forehead.


    “What? For this?” He patted the back of his neck. “Odds and ends is my game.”


    “You didn’t have to get this done so quickly. I know you’re busy.”


    “It’d spread if we left it.” He said, then rolled his eyes. Perhaps a response to his conscience. “And that guy needs to know he isn’t the only one who knows something.” He threw the rag back in the pile with a snap. Gareth didn’t have to ask who Serge was talking about.


    “Have you told him?”


    “Nah, not worth it til it’s done. So, by dinner time.” He said.


    “Good. I’ll make sure he hears it.” He smiled. “Message me if there is anything I could do to help.”


    ***


    Quinns stepped back to admire the completed fuel injector. It was back up to where he had it before. He smiled for only a moment before he thought of doing the dry run next. He still needed to figure out what had gone wrong with the first one.


    But what could that be? The broken connectors had been a symptom, not a cause. He stared at the injector, backing away to try and get a full picture. Nothing changed. Weakness washed over him, and he leaned against the wall. His eyes lowered and drifted over the mess scattered across the floor. He still needed to clean that up. His back slid down the wall until he was seated, resting his arms on his knees.


    “Ah, look. One’s blinking.” He muttered. Missed messages. Oh, right, the leak in the break room. He sat up. Pain flared in his shoulders spiking at the back of his skull. He would read the messages, he just needed a little break first.


    He was sure he only rested his eyes for a moment before he was disturbed by Gary sitting down next to him. Quinns blinked, trying to clear his head, but Gary didn’t say a word. He was looking around. Taking in the overturned workbench and the mess of parts on the floor. The collection of oily rags and broken parts. Quinns felt his body grow tighter with each second. The disaster in front of him digging in its teeth as he imagined what Gary was thinking. He was angry that Gary showed up, but he couldn’t ignore the part of him that was grateful. He needed help dragging himself out of this, even if it was going to be kicking and screaming.