You stay. You are helpful. You are also stacking words in the wrong order.

Jax asks whether the main bus is live. You say yes to a question about radiators. Mira asks for a battery number. You report the spin, proudly. The yellow CO2 tick is a woodpecker in the corner of your eye.

Your tongue feels thick. A giggle wants out and that is not your personality. Training said this: high CO2 does not always feel like choking. It feels like being the smartest person in a small room.

Okonkwo’s handheld crackles. “Cartridge. Now. Or you will make a choice that sounds like a legend and is actually a nap.”

The hatch to alley is three handholds away. The engine arming switch is closer, with a cover you could flip if you were a movie.

Mira tries to unstrap and her fingers miss the buckle. “Cadet. I am not as sharp as I was at breakfast. That should scare you more than the dark.”