The buzz of an alarm jolted Matt from his sleep. Instantly his heart rate skyrocketed above two hundred. Sweat sheathed his bare limbs. His feet were on the floor and his hands reaching for his coveralls before his eyes had fully opened.
“Da fuck’s broken this time?” he yelled.
Bleary eyes stared back at him from the surrounding bunks.
“It’s just yer fucken alarm clock,” said Jinx, with a groan. “Turn it off so we can get a few more winks, will ya?”
A glance to one side confirmed Jinx was right. Matt slapped the big red button. His heart rate slowed as the noise cut off. He looked at the coveralls in his hand and shrugged. He was awake now, so he may as well continue getting dressed.
The corridor to the mess was deserted. Matt’s eyes roved back and forth suspiciously. Did no one else consider everything that could go wrong at any moment?
A rivet might pop free, letting their precious air escape. Or a micrometeorite could breach their defences and tear a hole in the side of their spaceship. Then it wouldn’t be a slow leak but a howling gale.
It wasn’t only the big things that kept Matt on edge.
What if the air filters clogged? Sure the sensors should detect that, but what if they failed too? Then rather than losing all their air to vacuum they would slowly suffocate.
Air loss wasn’t the only thing that could kill them.
The water purifiers might break. Then rather than a nice refreshing drink you would be able to tell it didn’t come from a mountain stream. Too much salt and minerals was not good for the human body.
Did they have enough supplies for the food processor? Starving to death millions of kilometres from the nearest planet would be a miserable way to go. Even suffocation would seem fast compared to that. At what point would barbarism break out? If push came to shove, they could maintain the ship with fewer crew, couldn’t they?
“Lookit ‘is eyes poppin’,” said Marco. “What’s on the disaster radar today, Matt?”
“Everything, as always,” Matt entered his order into the food processor and waited impatiently for it to arrive. “I’m surprised we ain’t dead ten times over, given the state of this rust bucket.”
“What you callin’ a rust bucket?” asked Captain Skylar. “The Carmina’s got plenty of life in ‘er yet. If you do yer job she’ll treat you right for years to come.”
“Cap’n’s gotta point,” said Marco. “I been flyin’ this run for a decade and we ain’t had a problem yet. Not a serious one, anyway. Freakin’ out about every possibility ain’t gonna do anythin’ but give you an aneurysm.”
“It don’t hurt to be worried from time to time,” said Matt. “I don’t wanna get fucked by an emergency simply cos I wasn’t payin’ enough attention.”
“From time to time?” exclaimed Marco. “Is that what you call yer constant state of paranoia? Son, if I had a credit for every minute you spent worryin’, I coulda bought the Carmina and retired already. And you ain’t even half way through yer first trip.”
“We’re still alive, ain’t we?” Matt looked around nervously. “That means it must be working.”
“Makin’ a difference, my arse.” Marco spat on his empty plate in disgust. “A little less of your nervous energy would make more of a difference. At this rate someone’s gonna cock up a repair cos they caught the jitters from you.”
“Aah! What’s that in the corner?”
Matt spun to see Jinx pointing at one of the bulkheads. It looked as spotless as ever. He went over to inspect it more closely. The surface gleamed.
“There ain’t nothin’ there,” he muttered.
Peals of laughter filled the mess.
“Told ya I could make ‘im jump,” said Jinx. She held out a hand. “Come on, pay up.”
Grumbling, Marco reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of credits.
“You too, cap’n,” said Jinx. “A bets a bet.”
More credits changed hands.
Matt returned to his meal. “It ain’t a fucken joke. One of these days, somethin’ is gonna go ‘orribly wrong. It’ll give me no joy to tell ya I told you so.”