Adah had not expected to find herself carried in anyone’s arms, close to their chest, listening to their heart as it beats a steady rhythm of health and safety. Certainly not on the job, and certainly not someone who smelled like they bathed in alcohol. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone in this sector.

She’s certainly thankful that there was.

She just wishes that he’d had the opportunity to shower before playing an assistant’s role in saving her life.

The ear wire can connect to the clipboard for spoken communications outside their local area, but Adah hadn’t bothered to actually configure it appropriately. She prefers to keep written records of communications with her supervisors and other departments. That always makes it easier to hold people within the organization accountable for their promises and offers. And she prefers to read for understanding instead of listening. It’s just easier for her to retain information if she reads it.

And her mind wanders, drifting through incredibly unimportant topics while she attempts to focus on the things that actually matter. Because Adah is who Adah is, Adah organizes her wandering thoughts into a bulleted list.

Step one, get to the hospital.

No, that’s not right.

Step one, fix the thing.

Wait, what thing? Oh right, the intake vent control. And the airflow sensor. Very important things.

No, that’s not step one. “Step one, obtain backup hardware from storage.

Step two, apply ground wire.

Step three, remove old hardware.”

“Right now, I think step one should be to call for help,” Amina gently places the clipboard in Adah’s hands. Vasko sets her down on the floor beside the damaged vent. He props her leg up on a bench.

Adah does not realize when her internal monologue had become external. She finds it less than amusing to have ended up in another transport terminal. At least her bug bites don’t itch anymore. Her jostled leg stabs dark holes through her vision.

Amina waits for Adah to disable the clipboard’s security with a glance. She doesn’t try to ask which side of the gate Adah’s currently phased to. She just briefly checks the band around her wrist. All employees are required to have them, and they’re not possible to remove without the correct magnetic unlocking tool. The color of the band indicates which gate side a person is currently on.

The gate isn’t such a complex thing, really, but when Amina thinks about it too hard she gets headaches. She will never fully understand the complex physics that allow the gate itself to exist. But that does not mean she is permitted to ignore the places that the gate, rather than the ring that sustains it and provides her a living space, actually interacts with her life.

One of those key interactions is wearing a clear indicator of her current position relative to actual space on her arm. Traversing through the gate is a very strange experience, and it’s not one she cares to repeat often. While the Moldy Donut itself exists in two places at once, the people on it do not. If she leaves the Donut in any way, she will only exist on one side of it.

All of which is why, when sending a distress call for an emergency evacuation, Amina has to be choosy about who exactly receives the message. The call can only be answered by the right subset of people who are on the correct end of the galaxy.

“Hey boss, what do you think of this copy?” Amina shows Adah the text. Adah’s swimming vision makes it nearly impossible to actually read the words in front of her.

Amina notices the disorganized way her coworker’s eyes wander around the page.

“Immediate evacuation requested at Sector 32, gate 2, Venkyke, 1 individual,” Amina reads the precise request carefully.

Adah looks up at the gate they sit across from in the unloading area.

“Two. No air.”

Amina modifies the emergency notification accordingly and sends it on its way.

With that chore complete, she dives into the task of actually completing their targeted repair. Until someone shows up for Adah, there is nothing more she can actually accomplish.

The vent is helpfully located directly in the floor, where other important systems have been routed for safety and convenience. Amina attempts to remove the cover to the vent and briefly fumbles, her gloved hands making the task more difficult than it should be. While she works, the homeless man keeps up a one-sided conversation with Adah on the bench.

Not to be deterred, she carefully grasps her electric screwdriver and braces her wrists between her knees for additional stability and control. Though it hurts every tiny biting prick of her damaged palms, she carries through and gets the cover removed.

Holding the more delicate tools between her teeth, she works through the process of removing the damaged sensor piece. The process is miserable, and sitting in the furthest spin portion of the station, she can imagine the feel of the ugly persistence of a slow death with every exhalation.

Vasko passes the replacement part to her quietly. Amina takes it from him with utmost care. The last thing they need now is to have another electrostatic discharge event destroy a second critical device. She spots worry in his furrowed brows. Perhaps he has finally recognized how close to death Adah really is.

It’s worse than that, she realizes, as he leans in close, the smell of alcohol still heavy on his breath.

“I don’t think they’re coming,” he whispers, low enough that there is no way Adah would hear.

“They’ll come.” Amina feigns a confidence that she does not feel.

“You got to make an offer of something in exchange for them,” his cynical suggestion contains a spark of pragmatism. “Can’t you promise an oxygen refresh when they drop her off or something?”

“No, I really can’t,” Amina protests, trying not to think too hard about what might happen if nobody comes. She focuses on the task at hand. Valve control unit inserts into valve housing. Flow meter plugs into network input jack.

“They’d believe you, you know?” Vasko continues to try to make his case. “You could have a line of people waiting to ferry her wherever she needed to go if you just made the promise.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Amina stops to gesture with her pliers. “I can’t make the promise because management won’t do it. If they back out of a promise like that it’ll make the whole station look bad. We’re trying to get off the ground again, and publicity like that-” she catches herself before she raises her voice any further. “Publicity like that would kill us.”

Vasko harumphs and returns to Adah’s side, sitting on the ground next to her.

Amina completes the repair in glum silence, listening all the while to the chirp of message exchanges from Adah’s clipboard.