Free Adrift (Book 1) by K.R. Griffiths

know the way back to his own cabin, and following the numbers on the doors made no difference as anxiety began to affect his ability to think straight. In the end, he followed a sign that promised him a direct route to the nearest swimming pool, and figured that if he could get out into the open air, he would be able to get catch his bearings again. Or his breath.
    At the very least, he decided, a member of staff would be able to point him in the right direction, though he was no longer sure whether he would be asking for help to reach the security and enquiries section of the ship, or for directions to return to the safety of his own cabin.
    After a few more bewildering turns in the featureless hallways, he heard squealing and splashing ahead of him, and knew that he was close to the central part of the ship.
    When he exited at a large swimming pool, the open air helped him breathe a little easier. He took a moment to look at the bathers and the people reclining in loungers with books. None of them were looking at him; nobody was staring at the crazy guy. No one muttering jokes about the weirdo. It was just as his therapist always said: people have their own lives and their own worries. The only person thinking about you is you .
    Dan plucked at the mop of hair that covered his scarred forehead, and after taking a few calming breaths, he noticed a sign emblazoned with arrows pointing out the path to various attractions and facilities.
    He scanned the sign until he saw Security and enquiries , and set off in the direction marked, impressed with his determination to continue his mission and lost in thought about how to impart the news that there was a murderer on board.
    Wondering whether anybody would believe him.
     
    *
     
    The ventilation system wasn't quite as bad as Mark had feared.
    It was stiflingly hot in some areas—so hot that just touching the surface of some of the vents that he crawled through made him wince, but there was more room in the pipes than he had expected. Enough that, in certain parts of the metal maze, he was almost able to stand upright.
    Doubtless, Steven Vega had assumed that checking through the air con system would be a horrible job; maybe the head of security had hoped that Mark would get stuck in a vent somewhere and starve to death, or get sucked into a fan and diced, like a character in some bad action movie.
    Mark grinned a little at the thought. It wasn't so bad down there once you got used to the heat. In fact, the vents offered the same benefit as the walkway high above the ship did: Mark was far away from Vega's watchful gaze and incessant interfering.
    He stopped at a junction, and checked the air con schematics he had stuffed into his pocket to ensure that he did not get lost in the network of vents and pipes. As far as he could tell, he was getting close to the central control room; making far quicker work of checking through the system than he had anticipated.
    That wouldn't do at all. Finishing early would mean reporting back to Vega, and discovering what other awful jobs the man could conjure up for him. Mark thought that Vega would soon drop the pretence of 'maintaining security' altogether, and would order him to start cleaning toilets.
    Better slow this down , Mark thought, and sat on the warm metal, fishing out his pack of Marlboro's. Smoking inside the ship was strictly forbidden of course, but then...who would ever know?
    With a satisfied sigh, Mark lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply.
    And the smoke caught in his throat when he heard voices.
    Mark frowned, and strained to hear what was being said. Something about being terrified?
    He breathed out the smoke slowly, and the cigarette burned away between his fingers, forgotten.
    Hearing people in the Climate Control Centre was not, in itself, unusual. There was every chance that someone had asked for the air conditioning in some part of the ship to be turned up or down, and there could be maintenance staff nearby for any