The High Five

Dessert Jackpot

Daily life on the spaceship was regimented into forty-five minute activity periods with fifteen minute transitions. Lab work took up Milo's first slot. Owing to his early start, he not only finished his primary checklist but put a dent in the optional one as well. If there was one thing you could count on in space, it was checklists.

He washed down a breakfast bar with orange juice. 8:30 was physical exercise, alternating upper body and his one leg. Fifteen minutes to sponge wash and dress. 9:30: preventive maintenance. Check heat dissipators. With everything a decade past its warranty period, constant maintenance was the only thing keeping the ship running. 10:30 was check-in with station command. Milo reported on the ship and crew and received mission updates along with the latest space weather report. A cluster of sunspots was being closely monitored. They had remained dormant so far, but they could flare up with little warning, so all crews were instructed to be on high alert. Following that, Milo was apprised of the latest developments on New Camelot where psycho-social disequilibrium—official-speak for "attitude issues"—had escalated to the point that it endangered the wellbeing and even the safety of the crew. The briefing wrapped up early, leaving Milo with some idle time. He listened to some music and let his mind drift. 11:30 was lunch, a designated team event. Mandatory socializing was supposed to lead to bonding which in turn led to more efficient teamwork.

When Milo entered the mess, Tayen and Bobby were already sitting on opposite sides of the table. They were a study in contrasts. Tayen, the ship engineer, was compact and dark-skinned with a broad, serious face and even broader shoulders that filled out the top of her standard issue jumpsuit. Outside of the lab, she seemed stiff and tightly wound. Milo did a quick mental check to see if he could tell her artificial from her natural side. The way she glared at Bobby made it easy to tell.

By contrast, Bobby, the communications officer, was pale and skeletal, the personification of a stick figure. Under the yellow-cast light, he looked only slightly less nightmarish than he had levitating out of his bunk that morning. Oblivious to his surroundings, his phlex covered his eyes in goggle mode. One hand manipulated an invisible object while the other raised a fork with a meatball.

"Phlex off," Milo said. "Team time."

Bobby sighed and slapped the phlex back on his upper forearm where it still coiled around nearly twice. "What team? Besides, it's not even 11:30 yet. I'm early."

Tayen cast Milo a sideways glance, as if to say, When are you going to set him straight?

"Do you have something you want to say to me, Tay?" Bobby challenged. "Or are you waiting for the acting captain to do it?"

"That's enough, Bobby," Milo said. "Can't we just have some lunch?" He pulled a tray from the dispenser without bothering to read the label. They all tasted like shit. Ravioli.

He sat the magnetized tray on the table with a clank and maneuvered into his seat, bracing himself in place with the swing-in armrests. The table had a funnel-hole in the center like a physical model of a black hole. Suction channeled crumbs and loose bits of food into it. He peeled back the tray's foil cover. Each ravioli was contained in its own mini-compartment and had to be forked out individually. It beat eating from a bag—or so the psychologists said.

Jess came floating in at precisely 11:30, punctual as a robot. She took the seat next to Milo. She was almost as tall as him, the only member of the crew not to have a physical disability. Her impairment was being high-functioning autistic.

"Who wants to engage in some lighthearted conversation?" Jess asked.

"You don't have to ask," Milo reminded her. "You just start the conversation going, maybe by asking a question."