She didn’t have to walk around and personally check what other Engineering chiefs were doing, but Irene couldn’t help herself. There were chiefs she trusted completely and yet she had to occasionally drop by and ensure everything was fine. Others, she trusted well enough but they knew their limitations and admitted to requiring occasional supervision. And then there was da Silva, the Chief Cargo engineer, who she didn’t trust, who absolutely needed supervision, and who refused to admit it.

Da Silva wasn’t bad at their job, they would not have become chief otherwise, but they had a tendency of bending the rules, ignoring ‘annoying’ regulations, and taking cargo on the side without filing it in the manifest or telling anyone else on the ship about it. It was never something dramatic that would affect the fuel consumption in noticeable ways (a box here, a couple of canisters there), but Irene was aware of at least one instance when the crate turned out to contain actual living animals, which led to da Silva blackmailing three junior engineers into feeding said animals through a full hop. She didn’t have solid proof but there were enough rumours for her to believe the story.

(Irene tried to bring this issue up with Robert. He listened to her without interrupting, then asked: “Has this ‘extra cargo’ affected our performance?”

“No, but-”

“Did Miguel ignore their duties because of this ‘extra cargo’?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Did managing this ‘extra cargo’ affect our crewmembers in a negative way?”

“You know it didn’t! This doesn’t erase the fact that they are doing it without informing the captain, me, or even you!”

“Irene. Drop it. If it causes actual trouble as opposed to hurting your feelings, we’ll deal with it.”

She was very angry after that conversation.)

Currently, she was standing in the corner of the cargo bay and quietly observing the final checks on the clamps that held the grav net around the atmospheric shuttle they were taking out of SOI. It was a small model, with seats for a pilot and two passengers and two cargo compartments for luggage. It was old too; it probably had served for half a century on Earth as a luxury transport to holiday destinations before getting decommissioned for its shabby look. On the edge of the human inhabited space, such a shuttle was a real gem. After some retrofitting it could serve for another century or two and connect a small colony with supply transports in orbit.

The use of a grav net meant cargo engineers worked along with grav engineers. Irene found it really annoying that Grav Ramírez and da Silva acted all friendly around each other (were they flirting?) while she stood there alone and pointedly ignored. Nobody in the engineering acted this friendly towards her. She was the second boss. Then again, others liked talking to Robert as if he was their pal (and he really wasn’t, he had the empathy level of a plastic utensil) and rarely held grudges against him. Irene’s case was very much the opposite: everyone with high enough self-esteem questioned her opinion, second-guessed her results, and ignored the requests that were not phrased as direct orders (even then, when she did order around, some dared to call her out for ‘being too bossy’).

Not all the time, of course. But often enough to warrant this generalisation.

Grav Ramírez clapped his hands and got up from where he was crouched at the back of the shuttle. “All done. It will power up once engines start, I’ll stay here… to make sure it goes okay?” he addressed the last part to Irene, looking over his shoulder with an almost childish expression.

She nodded in response: it was a reasonable precaution. She had no complaints about his work today and was willing to forget yesterday’s miscommunication. Perhaps, he was indeed just adjusting to the power dynamics of the engineering bay. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here just to monitor him.

“We have a couple of jump seats if you want to stay for the whole take off.” Da Silva smiled charmingly, showing their perfect teeth (they had to have been worked on. Nobody could be born with such a perfect smile). “You’ll be able to see all the clamps from that corner, I reckon.”

They didn’t mention that corner was the one da Silva’s station was located in. (Yeah, definitely flirting.) Grav Ramírez nodded and walked over to a cleaning solution dispenser to scrub his hands off from all the dust. Da Silva merrily signed something on their interface and turned around to go back to their station.

Uh, nah, this was not going to fly.

“Da Silva,” Irene said in as neutral a voice as she could manage. They stopped, sighed dramatically, raised their eyes to the ceiling, all so she would definitely catch it, then turned back to her with a polite smile. 

“Yes, Ms Koulibaly?” They asked innocently, as if they had no idea what the issue could be.

“Did you just sign off the completion of the cargo inspection?”

“Yes, as you’ve clearly heard, Mr Ramírez said everything is alright with the shuttle.”

“What about the rest of the cargo?”

“All of it has been inspected and matched with the manifest before we started with the shuttle.”

Other cargo engineers did their best to act as if they were busy with their tasks. In reality, everyone was listening and enjoying the entertainment. 

“So, if I go point by point in the manifest, I will not find the mismatch in the number of boxes on the palettes 1 and 2?”

“Of course not, what a weirdly specific notion.”

They played a staring game for several more seconds. Da Silva was smiling, Irene wasn’t. She knew what she saw, and yet their calm reply seeded stupid doubts into the back of her mind. “Do we have to play this game of cat and mouse each time we load cargo?”

“Not if you drop it.” Da Silva chuckled and waved their interface towards the offending palettes. “It wasn’t even me who marked the boxes there. Are you implying someone from my department concealed something without my notice?”

Bastard. How could they just turn her words on their head like this?! Now, they were a chief loyal to their crew, ready to stand in their defence, and she was a bitch of a supervisor who should be minding her own business. 

Irene gritted her teeth. No, she was not going to step back. She turned towards one of the cargo engineers (Min?): “How long will it take to take down the two palettes and check their contents?”

Min’s expression turned from badly concealed amusement to open worry. “Uh… We’ll have to first move all the other palettes at the front, and… no less than 40 minutes. And another 40 to put everything back. Ma’am.”

Da Silva grinned triumphantly. They timed it perfectly. If they were in Gemi space or on a mixed colony, she could call for a delayed start. But not on Earth, nobody would give them extension for anything less than a complete failure of all the systems. Not for a cargo inspection, that’s for sure. And once off, they wouldn’t be able to move anything, because that would require opening the airlock. And then, once they docked at Bagathon II station, Irene would not be present for unloading.

Fucking great.

“On Bagathon II, you will not start loading cargo without my direct authorization.” This was useless of course. A warning meant even if da Silva planned to take cargo on the side, they would now cancel these plans. And she would find nothing. Hoping that the extra boxes on the palettes 1 and 2 would stay there for more than one hop was also foolish.

“As you wish, ma’am. Whatever would keep your mind at ease.” They answered smoothly, as if they didn’t just imply she was mentally unstable.

Asshole.

Irene turned around and marched out of the portside cargo compartment through a set of double doors and into a tiny room with a hatch leading to the service shaft. As she started climbing up the ladder, she could hear Grav Ramírez ask: “Do you think I should go back to my station?” Ugh, and now she felt bad. She wasn’t angry with him. And she would never spill her annoyance with the chief on those of lower position.

“Nah, ignore her. I’ll send Robert a good word about you.” Da Silva replied in a sweet tone. 

Irene almost turned around at that moment. How fucking dare they?! She was Engineer First Class, she was the second person in the whole Engineering department, she was in control of all the operational functions of the ship. Yes, Robert built this ship and he knew what everything was like better than anyone else and he could often guess where the problem was coming from on pure instinct. But he didn’t monitor systems to ensure nothing was breaking ‒ she did. 

And in a year, or two, or ten, she will be the Chief Engineer and everyone would have to deal with it. Will they change their tune once she is in charge? Will they learn to play nice because there won’t be anybody above her to complain to?

Well, there will still be a captain. Not Nikolai, but someone…

Or maybe it will all just fall apart, like the millions of successful family businesses that crumpled once the founders left their seats. Irene stopped at one of the landings to take a deep breath. This was a very scary thought. No more Hopestar. What would happen to all the crew? And to the passengers? “So you employ a hundred people, that’s it?” Gülnara said. Will humanity miss their disappearance? Will they even notice? And where would Irene go?

She pressed her forehead to the cold curving wall of the tunnel. Quietly, she mouthed the words in the dead ancient language, used only in prayer now. She knew what they meant, but despite decades of chanting them, they still felt awkward on her lips. “Give me strength to endure this hardship. Give me clarity to see the right path. Give me peace to carry on forward.” After another minute, she finally took a deep breath and started climbing again.

Most of the engineers had already returned to their stations, while a small group lounged in the rest area, waiting for the hangover meds to kick in. Irene greeted some of her shift mates, and some others who she had to work with regularly. Robert was already at his station, typing frowningly on the stationary interface. He never took shore leave on Earth, what could have caused this mood?

“We have unregistered cargo.” She said in a neutral tone.

Robert didn’t react, as usual. Irene intended to continue reporting it until he gave a different response.

Irene sat down and checked her messages. Replied to a couple of them. Sent call requests to chiefs responsible for all the systems crucial for take off. Checked the new messages again. Something felt off. She turned to look at Robert, who was still typing and still frowning.

“Do we have a problem with the ship?” She asked, eyebrows knotting into a frown of her own. When he didn’t acknowledge the question, she prompted: “Robert?”

He sighed and tapped the full stop key before leaning back. He heard her the first time but had no mental capacity to respond then. Irene knew this feeling all too well. 

“No.” He rasped, then cleared his throat. He clearly hasn't talked to anyone in quite some time today. “No, no problems on the ship. I’m trying to write a manual.”

Irene raised an eyebrow and looked at his interface. “A manual for what?”

“For everything, I guess.”

She considered this and asked: “A manual for who then?”

Robert shrugged. “Whoever may need it, I suppose.”

Irene took a moment to formulate her next question. When Robert got into one of those moods, it became very hard to get to the point. “Why do you think this manual is needed?”

He scratched the side of his chin. “Nick and I will take leave at Bagathon II station. Just a couple of hours.” He shrugged. Then sighed. “But even further than that. What if he needs hospitalisation proper? I won’t be available, so a manual is a good enough solution, right?”

Something squeezed painfully inside her chest. How many people knew Nikolai was sick? How many suspected it was getting worse? How hard could it be to do a hop or two without the captain and the chief engineer?

“A manual is a good idea, yes.” Irene said softly and reached to put her hand on his shoulder. “Is Nikolai…” She hesitated. ‘Alright’ didn’t seem like the right word to use. He clearly wasn’t. “... Is it getting worse?”

Robert grimaced, exasperated. “Fuck if I know. It doesn’t matter, worse or not ‒ he is still sick. He hasn't been sick for so long in… Well… ever. And even I can’t just roll with it anymore.”

Irene nodded, trying not to look sorrowful. They discussed their plans to drop by the private hospital on Bagathon II station for a bit more before it was time to start pre-flight configuration. Only later, she realised why the idea of a manual rested poorly in her mind. He was writing this manual for “whoever may need it”.

He wasn’t writing it for her.