Free Living Hell by Catherine Jinks

going?’
    ‘BioLab,’ he replied.
    ‘But -’
    ‘It’s all right, Cheney.’ Firminus spoke from behind me. ‘He won’t be going alone.’
    I looked around in surprise as Firminus brushed past me to join his son. They regarded each other with level gazes. They were exactly the same height.
    ‘It’s not necessary,’ Sloan pointed out.
    ‘Perhaps not to you,’ Firminus answered, in a voice that was quiet but firm.
    ‘ Cheney?
    ’ ‘Merrit, could I just -? Let me get back to you, okay? There’s a lot happening up here.’
    I wanted to say something to Sloan – I’m not sure what. But he was already stepping through the door, ahead of his father. I noticed something odd as the panels met behind them.
    Surely those two panels had never come together so fluidly before?
    ‘I think we should seal up again,’ Mum was saying. ‘We don’t know what this stuff is.’
    ‘The atmospheric readouts are fine . . .’ Haido remarked.
    ‘Yes, but since CAIP’s not functioning properly, that might not mean a thing. Tuddor!’
    But Dad was talking to one of his Navvies: the broad-faced girl with the tattooed hairline. ‘You don’t need me,’ she was insisting, an edge of hysteria in her voice. ‘This is all data routing stuff.’
    ‘We’re still at emergency stations -’
    ‘For a cosmic encounter! I do charts! I don’t have to be here!’
    ‘Look, I’m not going to argue. I don’t have time,’ Dad said shortly. ‘You do what you think is best.’
    The tattooed girl seemed close to tears. From his Interface Array, Arkwright suddenly remarked, ‘If she doesn’t want to be here, we don’t want her here.’ He wrenched his gaze from the diagnostic readouts. ‘She won’t add value,’ he explained matter-of-factly.
    The tattooed girl gasped; it was as if she had been struck. A call came through from Sibber on Dad’s voice patch, and he turned away from her. Mum laid a hand on her shoulder.
    ‘You go,’ said Mum, quietly. ‘Now.’
    ‘I -’
    ‘Go on. Quickly. Go to your husband. I know that’s where you want to be.’
    So the tattooed girl went. And watching her, I was sure of it – something had affected the door. The two panels didn’t simply slide apart any longer. They seemed almost to stretch apart, as if they were slightly elastic. As if something was pulling each of them from the middle.
    ‘Dad?’ I said, and this time he listened. This time everyone listened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw blurred faces swing towards me.
    ‘Hang on, Sibber – what is it, Cheney?’ said Dad. ‘Have you seen anything else?’
    ‘The door . . .’
    ‘What about the door?’
    ‘It’s . . . it’s changing.’
    ‘It looks yellow,’ someone piped up.
    It did, too. There were yellowish streaks on the white – a kind of blurring around the edges. ‘It’s not moving right,’ I pointed out. ‘It’s kind of . . . look.’ I advanced towards it, cautiously. When I crossed the pressure pad, the two panels in front of me practically peeled back.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Conal.
    ‘Sibber!’ Dad barked. ‘We have major structural changes on the Bridge, here! We’re talking mechanics , Sibber!’
    ‘Arkwright, we have to seal up!’ Mum exclaimed. ‘At least until we get some results from Ottilie! Arkwright? Are you listening?’
    Then Lais shrieked. She jumped from her chair.
    Everyone stared – even Arkwright.
    ‘It’s sticky!’ she wailed.
    ‘What?’ said Conal.
    ‘It’s sticky! My chair! The armrest! Look!’
    I was trying to see what she meant when my voice patch beeped. I gave a clear-to-send, absent-mindedly. I wasn’t expecting Dygall.
    ‘ Cheney, what’s going on? ’ he demanded. The signal seemed a little rough. A little fuzzy. ‘ Why are the walls changing colour?
    ’ ‘I – we don’t know yet -’
    ‘ Something’s eating up the ship!
    ’ ‘They’re onto it, Dygall.’
    ‘ I’m fzzchzz . . .
    ’ ‘What?’
    ‘. . . coming over there . . .’
    ‘Dygall