Ashok floated close to the hull, sliding both his gloved hand and his unprotected prosthetic one around the airlock until he found a panel he could pry open. Filaments sprouted from his mechanical hand, and he hummed to himself over the open comms channel as he tried to convince the ship’s ancient and rudimentary control systems that he was authorized to open the door. “Ugh. This is like trying to punch soup.”

Callie considered. “Punching soup would be pretty easy. Assuming it wasn’t too hot. I’ve punched lots of things worse than soup.”

“Yes, fine, but punching soup wouldn’t accomplish much, is what I’m saying… ah. There it is. Have I told you lately that I’m a genius?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t usually listen when you talk.”

“I’m really sad the door opened for me. I’ve got a new integrated laser-torch I wanted to try out in the field. Maybe next time.”

The hatch unsealed, and Ashok grabbed a recessed handle and hauled it open. Callie turned on her helmet light and looked into the airlock beyond. Ashok gasped – it was almost a shriek – and then coughed to cover it.

“I thought they were bodies for a second, too.” Callie watched a couple of old-fashioned, bulky gray spacesuits float in the airlock, but they were empty, their helmets hovering nearby. Callie unhooked from the cable, clambered into the ship, and deftly stowed the suits out of the way in the sprung-open locker they’d probably escaped from. Ashok came in after her, and then sealed the door.

“We’re inside,” she told the comms.

“Your heart rate’s up a bit,” Stephen said. “Is the ship full of space monsters?”

“I assume so. How are Ashok’s vitals? I thought he was going to faint when we saw a vacuum suit float by.”

“Ha ha.” Ashok peered around the dark with his multi-spectrum lenses.

“His vitals seem fine, but since he installed those hormone pumps to regulate his physiological responses, it’s impossible for me to tell what’s going on with him based on his suit data. He doesn’t need a doctor, he needs a small engine repair shop.”

Ashok was normally happy to trade banter, but he could focus when the need arose, and he was working on the control panel for the interior airlock door now. “There’s pressure on the other side, cap. I’ll sample the air, see if it’s breathable.”

“Ugh. I might leave my helmet on anyway. These little ships always smell like recycled farts.”