floating

This wasn't like Alice at all. She always thought things through, always planned for the worst. Her condition had defied her every effort to control it, and after far too many near-debacles and almost-disasters, she'd learned to be constantly vigilant for the first signs of a "gas attack". And when all her forethought and preparation inevitably came to naught, Alice made a point of learning from her mistakes. No longer did she keep her pills in a purse that she might misplace, like the last time, for example.

The crew of the Recovery Routers gathered outside the locked door of the seventh and last available spaceship bay aboard their orbiting station.

Elam, a thirty-year-old maintenance man and makeshift member of the salvaging team, stared at the seam of the two heavy trapezoid doors set in their hexagon frame. Elevator-like cherry-red lights dimmed above one by one while the AI intercom methodically described what was causing all the whirring and clanging on the other side.

“Floor doors secure,” its crisp, synthetic butler voice relayed.