A drone hangs from the rail, a basket of slender legs clinging to sheer metal and not a whole lot else. It’s newer than the rail-line, a decade old at most, left down here to tend the ancient tunnels.

A blue-green eye watches us for a moment, but the little machine decides we aren’t of interest, pulls itself back against the rail and runs its strange mouthparts through the cabling underneath. We have been dismissed.

Without boot-traffic, the walkway is full of the kind of slime that builds in any corner of a ship this size, a mix of moisture and metal dust, grease and mould and a thousand other things I’d rather not be thinking about. It sucks at our soles, and makes me wish I’d tied my laces. Their tips are slick with muck, and cold in my hands as I tie them up.

“Today just keeps getting better.”

But Salt isn’t listening.

“That’s the way we came,” he murmurs, as much to himself as anything else.

I follow the look. “The chow hall is at the end of that line. It’s going to be mad out there.”

He turns on the spot, looks out over the top of my head. “What’s on this end, then?”

“I’ve been here as long as you have, Salt.”

That isn’t completely true. I haven’t been here, but I’ve been a thousand places like it. NorCol builds in the same straight lines everywhere it goes.

“Figured I’d ask.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re right. There’s a standard pattern. This part of the hangar will be run by human resources.”

He chuckles at that. “I don’t think that means what they think it means. NorCol really doesn’t understand people, does it?”

“Even less than you’d think.” I peer into the dark ahead of us. “Human service blocks come in threes: chow, ablutions, and medical. Primary functions all lumped together.”

“So we’re in the middle, and chow is behind us, which leaves medical.” He rolls the thought around. “Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not.” I cross my arms, suddenly aware of the chill. The maintenance paths are made for people in heavy boots and protective clothing. “But the infirmary will have its own priority rail.”

“Full coming in, empty going out.”

“Assuming this is as bad as we think it is, yes.” I pull my coat tight, but the cold is already in here with me, and my skin is still clammy from the showers. I fasten the buttons anyway, hope my body heat can cook it off. “Whatever happens, at least it’ll be warmer.”

Salt grins at me. “What do you mean?” he asks, breath misting.

I flip my collar up around my ears and get marching. “Shut up.”