Russ insisted on staying awake.

After her bout of nightmares, she needed a break from the chamber. Forster had cleared her, though Kathar grumbled about protocol. Then Forster had reminded him she was second-in-command. They had more than enough multi-vitamin mix, or breakfast porridge. After Russ promised to steer clear of the hydroponic garden rations, Kathar ceased all grumbles.

Post-launch, the Control bots activated the dura-sleep chambers, poly-carbonate covers that descended from the ceiling, slipping over the harness chairs. Guin complained of the timing, as though they hadn't trained for weeks using the exact same sequence.

When the cover rolled out over her, she told the bot nearest her, "No, thanks."

Immediately, the cover retracted. Being the Captain's second had its perks.

Before the oxy-water filled the chamber, Forster shared his concern.

"You'll be bored as hell," he said, his voice reverberating in metallic tones behind the partition.

From across the room, she felt Jason's eyes on her. She had tried talking to him, like they always had, but things were just...different now. He watched her, constantly. The word 'stalker' came to mind.

"I'm always bored," Russ said. She ignored Jason, and concentrated on the Captain. His stare drilled into her, and she blurted out, "I can't go under again." The stare persisted, prompting her to add, "Not yet. I'll sleep next planet."

She cringed at the lie, knowing herself. She never wanted to get inside the chamber, ever again.

Forster nodded. "I get it. Go light on the pranks. No midnight haircuts, and no jettisoned pods," he warned.

The water line in his chamber filled up to his chin.

Russ half-smiled. "Then what the hell else am I supposed to do?"

Any response from Forster got drowned out by the oxy-water. For an instant, their met eyes, a pseudo goodbye through the ethereal liquid. The oxy-water bubbled silently, and then his eyes closed.

"See ya later," Russ murmured.

Everyone, except for her, floated in silence.

The quiet unnerved her. She swept a glance around the room, catching the attention of a Control bot. It swiveled from beside her to settle near her face.

"How may I make you comfortable?" it asked.

She shoved the bot away. "I may need scissors."

The hair-cutting idea pervaded her thoughts, but she couldn't decide who to punish first. Guin, maybe. No, too easy. Samuel? No, he'd have a conniption.

She settled for a game 'Observation' with the bot who never left her side. They bet on the contents of a particle box, and whether or not it would show.

Russ shook the box with eyes squeezed shut. "A drop of water?"

When she peeked under the composite lid, there was nothing. She sighed and slid the box across the table. Without touching, the bot made a guess.

"An atom."

It picked up the lid with lucite fingers, crowing at the hidden treasure. To Russ's disbelief, it tipped the box in her direction, and she saw a small pinprick of light floating inside. She guessed the pinprick to be an atom.

"You goddamn cheat!" Russ said.

"Impossible to cheat at this game," the bot said.

It was lucky for her the bot didn't want her rationed items as payment: comic books and alcohol.

She convinced the bot to aid her next endeavor. Staving off giggles no one heard anyway, Russ hovered over Tiptree's chamber. Only bots could pierce the polycarbonate shield, and her partner in crime reached inside, sinking like a knife through butter. It caught the ends of Tiptree's flowing black hair, pulling the end out slightly so that it hung outside of the chamber energy field.

Half-in, half-out.

No hesitation, Russ swiped with the scissors, snipping off an inch. The hair spiraled to the ground in a chunk of shining curl.

"Eh, no one knows if she's a he or not anyway," Russ said.

She didn't know why she needed to explain her actions to a robot.

While settling in the living barracks, she reflected on her choice. One day in, and boredom ruled her. Well, Forster guessed as much, and she had too, but sleep was a waste. All the same, she thought about caving, telling the bot to strap her in and enact the dura-sleep chamber. A delay, she would claim. Now she was ready to be strangled by the oxy-water.

From the interior hallway, the bot asked, "May I assist you in any way?"

Its shadow stretched along the wall, with a bulbous head and claw like hands. Silence crept in again, and Russ remembered it was just the two of them. If the bot malfunctioned and turned homicidal, no one would come to her rescue. No bot had ever knowingly hurt a human, but the rare shutdown had fired strange responses, like shoving a hand through an owner's eye, or ripping an arm off. She gathered the sheets to her chin.

"No, I'm good." When the bot lingered, she added, "Thanks!", lest it think her rude and decide to malfunction in retaliation.

The bot retreated, but Russ called it back.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"My protocol requires a system check, an overhaul of the dura-sleep filters, among other chores," the bot said.

At the mention of chores, Russ brightened. "Can I help?"

"Certainly."

While the answer came readily, Russ detected a hint of hesitation. The A.I. and empathy protocols were heavily programmed, and harder to override.

They spent the next few hours doing work familiar to Russ. In the middle of polishing an interface surface, she asked, "What's your name?"

The bot ceased scrubbing. In fact, it ceased all movement, including answering.

She asked again, and the bot seemed to wake from a deep sleep.

The tone of the answer reflected the drifting state. "The programmers attached the name Genly."

"Well, Genly, let's keep workin', shall we?"

Russ continued polishing.

And so the days went on for a month in quite the same way. Then, the computer announced an approaching anomaly.