But the present remains the present. Sparse satellite density compared to Earth’s Sat Constellations, and no global transmitter coverage or Deep Space Network like Earth. Just some provincial colony bullshit.

“Ragtime,” she says.

“Captain.”

“Status?”

“Nominal, Captain.”

Yeah, but it said that before parts of the ship broke off.

She undoes her sleeping bag and rises from her pod. She has missed two exercise slots and feels apprehensive. Not that she can develop osteoporosis in four days and some hours.

Fucking ship. Fucking Ragtime.

“Captain?” It’s Salvo.

“Go ahead.”

“I have proposals to show you.”

“Stand by. I’m coming.”

In the bridge, Salvo floats in front of Shell. He tracks her approach and looks inhuman in the gloom. His bald head is too symmetrical, his skin too perfect. His makers were not concerned with him passing.

The light is not as bright as usual. The Ragtime is power saving, and the temperature is half a Celsius lower than normal, though that would cause humans to expend more energy upping their body temp. While hunger won’t send the ship crashing into Bloodroot, energy loss might.

In his left hand, Salvo holds the comms orb.

“I’ve modified this into a minisat. It’s not going to extend radio range but it’ll broadcast a distress call for us. We can deploy it through the equipment lock or during a spacewalk by hand.”

“And Bloodroot will pick this up?” Shell asks.

“Maybe, but it’s unlikely. But someone else might. It’s not a solution; it’s a probability raiser.”

“But we lose comms in Ragtime?”

“We won’t have uninterrupted communication, yes, but there are other comm orbs. Does that matter?”

Shell doesn’t know, but she goes along. “Tell me what else you got.”

“May I link to your IFC?”

No. “Yes.”

A hologram: a long-range, high-gain antenna. “Your EVA will have to build this outside. We can make the parts with what we have on board and outside, but it’ll have to be cold-welded to the existing stump.”

Shell goes on the comm. “Uncle Larry, come back.”

“Here, over.”

“Can you use an ion beam welder?”

“Sure can.”

“On an EVA?”

“Never done it before, but I’d like to try.”

“Okay. Out.” She looks at Salvo. “We’re building it.”

Takes too long.

Even with all hands and Salvo’s crisp, precise and unaffected instructions, with Joké scavenging, Larry’s experience, Shell’s determination and Fin’s… well, and Fin. Larry works in his spacesuit gloves – he’s going to need the dexterity practice. They all sweat, and they’re all using more oxygen than Shell would like. It takes up what is left of the first day.

Larry wants to don his suit and jump right out, but Shell stops him. Two-hour mandatory rest. Fucking cowboy.

Shell has a constant, low-grade headache. Not enough to need a painkiller, but it’s there. Niggling. Will it go away, will it get worse?