When you live on a company tub, you’re on top of a dozen human beings at any given time, and so close there’ll always be naked skin. You get used to that part quickly, but you take privacy where you can get it.

That doesn’t mean covering up; you don’t have anything that everyone else hasn’t seen a thousand times before. On a boat like this, quiet is what you’ll be looking for. A second without anyone yelling at you, a moment to clear your head. Like everything else, there’s a trade involved. You give your wingmates space when they need it, and you can expect some in return. When you walk in on someone, you announce it, give them time to clear their eyes and get their walls back up.

I wait on the threshold. “Rough night?”

Salt straightens, takes a second to work out where I am. “The night was fine. Waking up was the problem.”

“When?”

“About half an hour ago.” He chuckles, deep and resonant. “I’ve been on military time so long I’d cycled the days in my head, decided I’d slept through a whole one and came out the other side.” He rests an elbow on the divider, nods to me. “You look about as bad as I feel. Up late?”

I flip the taps on the stall next door and find a hook to hold my coat. “Hail’s fault.”

Salt slips back under the water. “Think she ever sleeps?”

I set my boots on the counter, fold my clothing on top of them as I undress. The hall is all stainless steel, and only a little warmer than the ship around it. Steam condenses on every surface; a shirt on the floor is a shirt in a puddle just waiting to happen.

“If she sleeps, it’ll be where no one can see it.” I stand back, hugging myself, waiting for the cold pipes to warm to something sane. “You hear about the damage she took?”

Salt frowns at me. “No. She okay?”

“Just fine, that’s the problem.” When I lean back in, the water is hotter than I’d ever care to use. “She came back without a scratch. Nothing. They didn’t even have to patch her paintjob.”

He wipes sweat and beading water from his forehead. “Might be true, but you’re the one with two scalps on your belt.”

“Two scalps, and missing a wing.”

He measures a breath. “You and me both.” He aims an eye at my stall. “Careful.”

“I’ll try.”

The shower’s hot, but I don’t want to risk the taps: one flick and they’ll go from peeling skin to frostbite. It’s been that way on every NorCol boat I’ve ever had the misfortune of showering on. Some jockeys think it’s on purpose. As I watch my stall fill with steam, I’m inclined to agree.