"You're sure you're up for this?" Stephen asks.
They're helping with the twins, preparing them for their EVA. The pair are nominally able to operate outside the ship on a moment's notice, but it's always best to check their plumbing before sending them out. Stephen is checking all their fluid lines with a volatiles detector, an electronic nose, as it were.
"I'm fine," Rhianu says. They check Beta with their own detector.
The Twins are older than me, older than the ship. They're from a time when quantum computing was less advanced, incapable of hosting sentience. They don't contain quantum computers, but they are linked to one in engineering, and ancient ancestor that barely qualifies as a computer anymore. It's amazing they're still operating. They've made over fifty cycles from the inner planets to Saturn and back.
They're linked to Rhianu, a brain-computer interface makes them extensions of them. Captain Voclain used to call them 'Rhi's arms'. They stopped when Rhianu and the Captain ended their intimate relationship. It's not fair to call The Twins an extension of Rhianu. They are independent, capable of performing tasks on their own. It's just that the engineer shares a special bond with them, and they can go places Rhianu cannot, be their eyes and hands.
"There's no rush on this. We're still operating in norms even with the dust build up," Stephen says.
"Let's just get it done. Then it's one less thing to worry about."
Alpha looks over to Beta, their one off-set eye unblinking. They whir quietly. Once upon a time the pair were as silent as void. They're old now, they haven't been overhauled in cycles. There are no parts let to do so. Rhianu machines replacement parts as they're needed. Or the Twins do themselves. They're rather clever that way, or their designers were.
The pair clomp into the airlock, leaving Stephen and Rhianu floating, looking after them as the inner door closes. The Twins have magnetic feet. They've never been as graceful as the Spacer crews that they've worked with. It's a holdover from their ancient design, when magnetic boots were the norm, and Spacers were a dream.
I link to the Twins and do my own checks. I don't normally intrude on their connection; it feels invasive to inject myself into Rhianu and their bond. We need to be sure they're EVA ready though. I feel Rhianu's anxiety as I run a checklist on The Twins. It's unpleasant. Touching other minds, even via the primitive link with The Twins is always unpleasant. It's easy to get lost in the wildly erratic thoughts in a human mind.
"Alpha has a sticky servo in their right shoulder," I say.
"I know. We haven't had time to machine a replacement," Rhianu says. "It'll be fine."
"Understood," I say, disconnecting from The Twins.
Captain Voclain is watching from the bridge, oddly illuminated in all its glory. The bridge is usually dark, unused as we glide from planet to planet. It's standard procedure to have it on-line and ready for operation during EVAs. Technically we don't need to have the bridge up for a drone EVA, but The Twins are members of the crew as much as any of the rest of us. If something goes wrong, we're going to save them.
"Captain, we're ready for EVA," Rhianu says over the coms from the airlock to the bridge.
"Go for EVA," Voclain says. "Darkness protect you, Twins."
"Darkness protect you," Rhianu mouths, but doesn't speak. They turn to head to engineering, where they'll monitor The Twins over their neural link.
Stephen, suited up in EVA gear, save the helmet, settles against the bulkhead next to the airlock. "See ya after," he says to Rhianu. Stephen is the rescue EVA on this operation. They'll put their helmet on and go after The Twins if needed. They shouldn't be needed. It's just procedure.
Alpha and Beta look at each other as the airlock depressurizes then silently clank a high-five before walking out onto the skin of Carpathian 43. It's endearing, something the designers did to humanize the carbon fiber and metal drones. There's no sound to the fist-bump, no air to carry it.
This far from any planet, this far from the Sun, it's inky blackness. Lights on The Twins illuminate the way, the bright, arc-white beacon of the ship pulses every nine-hundred-fifty-eight milliseconds, casting feeble shadows on the surface of the ship. The backup radiators for the Hump's RPS, Radioisotope Power System, the nuggets of plutonium that provide power for the cargo holds of the Hump, are a hundred meters up spine from the airlock. The Twins plod along towards it.
Rhianu settles into their workstation, calling up screens to monitor The Twins and the RPS system. Air handlers whir quietly. A fan at the top of the engineering compartment rattles gently, a worn bearing causing it to jostle as it moves air.
"Doesn't look like much, does it?" Voclain says over the operations loop.
They're watching a feed from The Twins as well, looking at the large metal fins of the radiator. To an untrained eye you couldn't tell there was dust on the fins at all. Alpha switches their eye to infrared, revealing the white splotches of temperature that are holding on to heat. Beta aims their hand and tiny puffs of dark cold blow away the warm dust. It doesn't take much nitrogen to push the dust off the radiator fins.
"Doesn't take much," Rhianu says from engineering.
The Twins make quick work of the cleaning. They're precise, methodical, focused on their task. Alpha spots, Beta cleans. Move onto the next fin. Repeat.
"Rhi, what's that cold spot?" Voclain asks.
"Cold?"
"Three O'clock low on Alpha's feed, by the port ventral gas line."
Alpha turns to focus on what the captain is talking about. A marker appears on the feed, a reminder to examine the curiosity after the radiators are clear.
"Not sure. I'll check that line while The Twins finish up," Rhianu says.
It's not unusual to find other problems when on an EVA, but the crew is focused on the task at hand. They can check on the anomaly when they're done. If it were anything dangerous, I'd know already.
It takes The Twins another twenty minutes to finish up the cleaning on the radiator.
"Ninety-Eight percent efficient," Rhianu says after they've finished.
"Good enough. Bring 'em in," Voclain says.
"Yeah, let's check that spot first."
"Yeah."
The twins trudge to the port ventral gas line. This is the trunk of pipes and plumbing that moves gas across the spine from the command and drive modules and tees off to feed the ring as well. Alpha's infrared does show a dark splotch on one of the pipes, almost a puff of dark cloud. The ship's beacon keeps flashing, casting shadows on the mass of pipes.
"Looks like..." Rhianu says, considering the line.
I know what it is before they do.
"It's a leak in the liquid helium line."
"Yeah," Rhianu says. "Doesn't seem too big. Beta should be able to patch it."
"Shouldn't we have seen a drop in He pressure?" Voclain asks.
"Probably?" Rhianu asks, checking systems on their terminals.
Liquid helium (He) is a coolant used on various systems on the ship. Mostly it's used to keep the quantum computer that houses, well, me operating appropriately.
"Fuck." Rhianu says.
"Problem?" Stephen asks on the line. He's ready to go out and save The Twins if needed.
"The primary He pressure sensor is giving faulty readings."
Sentient Ships operating systems can't shiver. We don't have a spine, besides the one running from command to drive. I shiver, just the same.
"We're at twenty percent optimal pressure and falling slowly," Rhianu says.
Voclain is confused and concerned. They haven't worked out what it means yet. I can see their face on the bridge, their forehead creased in thought.
The coolant that keeps me alive is mostly gone and venting slowly into space.
"Patch –" Voclain starts to say.
"We're ahead of you," Rhianu says as Beta wraps the He line in a tube of carbon fiber sheeting.
I've never faced mortality before. It's... distressing.