Tananger didn't get dressed at all on Saturday. He didn't check his calendar either, which is why the pump didn't get changed. Instead he floated in his room until twelve hundred hours, then floated down the corridor to the Mess chamber. He stopped at the hatch, gripping the stanchion. Jackson was there, floating in front of the oven. She hadn't gotten dressed either.
      "Will you be long?" he asked her, but she turned her head away from him and pushed away toward the pantry. Tananger's lips pushed out in a pout, and he just pushed back toward his room. When he got there he closed the hatch behind him and sealed it, then turned off the lights and went back to sleep.
      Sunday Tananger did get dressed, but only in his space suit. He awoke at three thirty in the morning and checked his calendar. He saw that the matrix forge was at last charged, and he remembered his chores. He reserved the matrix forge for later that day, and headed down to the nexus to find the pump. It was going to be a messy job, so clothes weren't in the forecast anyway, but on the way there Captain Jack caught him in the corridor, interrupting his plans for the morning.
      "Tananger!" he called, from the hatch of the Starboard Ponics chamber. He was dressed in his blues, but they were as rumpled and stained as the crew's moral had become. "Are you going to raise those extra reflectors today?"
      Tananger felt a wave of guilt wash over him, but angrily shoved it back down into his subconscious. Crew members on the MineCorp Engineer were required to wear their blues when on duty, but he had a dirty job to do, and there was no point in soiling them just to make protocol, especially with the power rationing going on. He met Captain Jack's gaze firmly.
      "Yeah, I will," he replied, holding the captain's gaze defiantly, willing himself to not look away.
      "Do you need help? I can spare some time …"
      "No, I got it," he replied, and pushed off, heading back the way he had come. He hoped Captain Jack hadn't been offended, but Tananger felt irritated that the captain had reminded him to do his job. "I got it."
      But in fact he hadn't gotten it. The reflectors were stowed behind the radiators, and with the boost phase of the flight in full progress the heat boiling off the black-body fins was scalding. Tananger had forgotten that fact, and neglected to use an umbilical, opting for the lighter and more maneuverable tether instead. He got Nguyen to spot him, and she was pissed when he discovered that he couldn't reach the reflectors because of the heat.
      "I have my own projects to work on, you know," she bitched as he reeled himself back to the airlock. "It's not like I have all the time in the world to baby sit you while you screw up." Tananger didn't say anything, just frowned inside his suit and fumed as he tucked himself in the airlock and waited for it to cycle. When he got inside she was gone, which was a breach of safety procedures, but he wasn't surprised or upset. He didn't want to see her anyway, not in her mood (or his). He packed the suit back into the rack and latched it, then floated aft toward Stores. If he didn't use that power for the matrix forge today it would get de-allocated back to the drive, as all spare power was, and he would have to wait another week to charge it back up again. By then the pump might fail completely, and he had only one left. He didn't want Captain Jack to ding him again for running low on critical inventory. Nor did he relish the idea of running low himself. The weakening pump was already driving the temperature up beyond the comfort zone, as the heat from the electronics and life support machinery was trapped in the hull by the insulation. More and more the crew was eschewing the blues for anything except strict duty hours, and Tananger himself was finding it hard to sleep, even nude, even wet. He had to fix that pump today.
      Stores itself was nothing more than a wide cross-member linking the twin tubes of the ship's main hull, each named "Main" and given the letters "A" and "B". Stores was lined with cabinets containing every item required to keep the ship and crew running well. Tananger snagged a stanchion at the hatch to Stores and swung himself in. With the drive on full-time, the ship was not truly in microgravity, but the feeble thrust of the plasma drive could be ignored as long as you were not actually trying to float free. Tananger didn't bother with handholds as he accessed the Stores catalog and requested the coolant circulation pump. It came up fast and he activated the matrix forge. He floated over to it and stared in its transparent cover while it worked.
      Most parts on the ship were made of smart stuff. Active imbedded technologies allowed the entire vessel to be aware, monitoring itself at all times. It also allowed new parts to be quickly created by the matrix forge, and also allowed old, broken parts to be recycled easily and completely. Tananger watched the mechanisms in the forge as they spun a new pump out of raw particles. When it was done the new part was sucked into Store's automated warehousing system, disappearing into a conduit. Tananger turned to dispensary, and after a moment the pump that had been in storage appeared, replaced by the one he had just created. Tananger snatched the pump and pushed out of Stores.
      The Nexus was the center cross-member, and it was as big as Stores. Unlike Stores, however, it was choked with conduits and cable runs and pipes and machinery. It was the heart of the ship, it's veins and arteries and lungs. Most of Life Support was here, and the failing pump was part of that.
      "Life Support upgrade number," Tananger called out as he floated into the Nexus. He paused, trying to remember what the order number had been. When he didn't reply within a few seconds, the ship's central computer spoke.
      "Lima sam one one niner eight?" it asked, and Tananger recognized the number as the correct one.
      "Yeah," he said, and the correct hatches opened and the indicated pump glowed a dull green. Tananger kicked off the floor and reached up to pull down the vacuum hose. It was used to catch free-floating droplets or trash, and there was one in each compartment. He floated to the open panels and stuck one bare foot in a foothold. After dogging down the manual valve levers to be sure they were closed, he opened the vacuum hose and stuck its sticky end to a pipe near the pump. Taking the two release levers on either side of the pump, he unlatched it and pulled it free. He held it in front of the vacuum hose while the clinging coolant was sucked off, then he set it in the air and took the new pump. He popped the new pump in and dogged it tight.
      "Life Support upgrade complete," he called out. "Begin testing."
      "Lima sam one one niner eight?" the computer asked again.
      "Yeah."
      The pump and all lines connecting to it all turned red for a moment as the new pump whirred to life, then each one glowed green.
      "Life Support upgrade lima sam one one niner eight tested successful."
      "Clean up," he called.
      "Life Support upgrade lima sam one one niner eight?"
      "Yeah."
      The panels closed. Tananger pushed off toward the nearest hatch and swung himself around until he was floating toward Mess, aft of the Nexus in Main "A". It was empty when he got there, and he snagged a burrito. He then continued aft to the rear entrance to the Starboard Ponics. He swung inside and floated toward the outside wall, chewing. Each of the four Ponics chambers was three-quarters the length of the ship, and selectively transparent. They were filled with green plants, and fulfilled many functions. The plants scrubbed the air, and provided food. The Crew often used them for exercise, running around the inside of the long tubes on a running path. And of course they provided sunlight.
      Extended Maritime law required that the operators of any spacecraft provide each non-hibernating crew member and passenger with a daily ration of sunlight. Studies had shown the clear benefits of this early in the history of space travel, and Ponics chambers were the usual place to get that. No one wore blues in Ponics, and it was usually a popular place. But the chamber was almost empty today. Yui, the second shift navigator, was jogging the trail, his music clamped to his head. He ran underneath as Tananger floated down the middle of the chamber. Yui's eyes were shut. He was panting slightly, his genitals flapping up and down as he moved. His flesh also flapped, grown flabby from months of microgravity. Tananger knew they had all gotten weak. His own forearms and thighs were soft and formless. Guilt rose up in his mind, and he pushed it back down.
      Further down the chamber, tending the sun lamps, was O'doul. She was floating, as he was, and she was re-wiring a bank of lights. The MineCorp Engineer was on a run to Pallas, in the asteroid belt, and the sun was weak out here. Maritime law required the ration, so lamps were provided. But during boost phase all power was drawn to the engines. The lights of the Ponics chambers were dimmed to the bare requirements, leaving the chamber pallid and dim. Tananger ate as he watched her work. Her hair was a bit on the long side of regulation, and it puffed out around her head in a halo. She was one of the few crew members who still sported body hair, and it was now matted and tangled with the leaves and twigs and mud that festooned her whole body. She looked like the images he had seen of early primitives from Earth, with ritual paint smeared on their bodies. Any other day he might have laughed at the sight good-naturedly, but the dimness of the chamber was depressing, and he popped the last of his food in his mouth as he passed her and turned away.
      Tananger was normally a cheerful man, competent and confident. He knew in his mind that he loved his job, and that if he was feeling insecure he had good company. The whole crew was depressed due to the low sunlight levels. The reflectors were to be unfurled to counteract the gloom, and that was his job. He actually enjoyed the EVA's that were required to raise them. So why was he putting off unfurling them? Part of his mind reminded him that he was already at his limit of time outside the ship for the day, so he couldn't do it now anyway. But he knew that was just an excuse. The end of the chamber was coming up, and he rotated his body to land feet first. He sprang again at the fore hatch, and spun into the corridor.
      The next day was the weekly crew meeting. Everyone was there, and except for O'doul and Vargas, the two gardeners, everyone was in their blues. Captain Jack was an easygoing man, and ran a easy ship, but he was a stickler for the dress code. His own blues were clean and pressed. Tananger's were clean and not too rumpled, as were most everyone else's. The exceptions were Mbenga's and GoodFellow's. They were the third shift crew, and their blues were never pressed. Captain Jack didn't press them - third shift was hard enough to fill.
      "I'll make this quick," he started. "Just the status updates, that's all."
      "Ponics is cool," Vargas said. "We're running a bit yellow in places, but the extra reflectors will fix that."
      "Nothing to report from Third," GoodFellow said. Captain Jack was going around the room clockwise, and he was next to Vargas. They had a thing going, and the ship's rumor mill was currently speculating about whether they were lovers yet. Scuttlebutt said no.
      "Engines are fine," said Freud. She was the second officer and managed the drive units. "We're good for the rest of the month for thrust."
      Tananger was next, and he could feel the eyes of the group on him. Suddenly he realized that they had all been eagerly anticipating the extra sunlight the reflectors would bring, and he suddenly felt derelict in his duty.
      "We're having some minor problems with raising the reflectors, but I should have them up tomorrow," he said, carefully holding Captain Jack's gaze, avoiding the others. Captain Jack just nodded and moved to the next person.
      "Hibernation units all nominal, no problems with the sleepers," said Smith, the ship's doctor. The MineCorp Engineer was one of only a hundred deep space transports, and she was hauling the only cargo that required a manned vessel - humans. Bound for Pallas, the sleepers on board were engineers and managers and doctors, skilled labor for the growing colony on Pallas. Asleep in artificial hibernation, they required constant monitoring and care. Smith and his two assistants Kennedy and Rosenfeld constituted the largest department on the ship, right after Ponics.
      "All right, that's all. Just wanted to see all your happy smiling faces," Captain Jack said. Everyone began to reach for handholds, preparing to leave, when Smith spoke up.
      "One more thing, please." Everyone turned to look. "I've been noticing a lot of sad faces lately. Tananger should have those reflectors up tomorrow, and I want to see every one of your naked bodies in Ponics by tomorrow night." He looked at GoodFellow. "With the exceptions of the ship's vampires," he deadpanned, and everyone cracked a smile. Third shift was hardly ever seen by anyone, and the crew joked that they always retired to their caskets before anyone awoke in the morning. In space, of course, there was no sunrise or sunset, but on the colonies Earth time was usually kept, and so the shifts corresponded to their Terran equivalent. "Seriously. No exceptions."
      There was murmured assent, then everyone drifted away.
      The next morning Tananger was awake at three again. He had gone to sleep early while running a suit of tests on the new pump, and had dreamed unhappy dreams. He floated down to the airlock and began prepping his suit for the EVA. As he worked he called up to the bridge.
      "GoodFellow," came the response.
      "This is Tananger. I decided to start my shift early so I could have those reflectors up for everyone when they get up today. Can one of you come down and spot me?"
      There was a moment of silence, then GoodFellow's voice came back.
      "Sure, I'll send Mbenga down."
      Mbenga was in her late twenties. Tananger was somewhat surprised to see her out of her blues, but one look at her face made him decide not to bring up the topic. Like many of the crew, she had bowed to the unspoken pressure to adopt the bald look. Hair tended to come loose and float about in microgravity, whether eyelashes or pubic hair or even the longer hair from the human scalp. These free-floating strands could foul gear or contaminate experiments, so there was an implicit pressure on the crew to reduce or eliminate hair. Crew cuts were regulation, and many crewmen accepted a genetic modification that eliminated hair growth altogether. In its place many sported tattoos. Mbenga wore an ornate tattoo on her head that, from a distance (in poor lighting) could pass for gently curling locks.
      "Spotter here," she announced as she floated in. "What am I watching?"
      "Just me raising the reflectors," he replied. He was already half into the suit, and she floated over and helped him seal it. "I'll be on the umbilical, so you should get a good clean signal. OK?"
      She rapped on his helmet to show that he was ready. "Gotcha. Break a leg!"
      He squeezed into the airlock and she closed the door for him, sealing it. He plugged an umbilical into his suit and then hung there, feeling the suit stiffen around him as the air was pumped out. Then the outside door swung open, and he pushed out. He swung out and floated free for a moment, admiring the stars before pushing off toward the radiators. As he got closer he could feel the heat again, but this time the cooling unit in his suit was augmented by the coolant flowing from the umbilical, and the heat was tolerable. He passed the radiators and came upon the storage where the reflectors were folded. There was an EVA station nearby and he moved to it. He snapped a tether to one of its restraints and fitted his boots into footholds.
      "Initiate EVA activity delta echo five five," he intoned, and the storage bins ponderously opened. The deployment of the reflectors was supposed to be fully automatic. The first time they had done it, however, they reflectors had failed to lock, and Tananger had gone out to lock them. Captain Jack had henceforth insisted that the reflector deployment be an EVA activity. Now Tananger watched as what looked like fine sheets of mercury poured up and out of the storage locker. Billows of mirror poured into space and began to fan out above his head. The reflector bloomed into space, and within minutes was fully deployed. Once again, however, it did not lock, and Tananger unclipped from the station and walked over to where the thin, tubular supports connected to the hull. He put the toe of one boot aside the support, and his heel on the hull beside it, gripping the support in his hands. He pressed down with his foot, and felt the click as it snapped to.
      The next reflector was on the other side of the ship, and Tanager propelled himself over there. This deployment went easier yet - the reflector locked in place by itself. He was done.
      "I'm coming back," he told Mbenga.
      "Welcome home, friend," she replied. He reeled himself past the seething radiators and tucked himself back into the airlock. Within a few minutes the inside door opened and he was back inside.

      The effect of the extra sunlight on the crew was immediate. Tananger took a breakfast break and headed down to Starboard Ponics. There he found Kennedy, Freud, Jackson, and Yui engaged in a lively game of Frisbee. He watched them as he ate, and as he watched guilt slowly wrapped his heart in leaden dread. They looked so happy, so cheerful compared to the gloom of the week before, and he knew in his chest that if he had been faster they could have felt like this sooner. And why hadn't he acted faster?
      The truth was that Tananger felt like a hunted man. He had graduated well in his class, well enough to earn a coveted berth on the MineCorp Engineer, but he knew in his heart that he was a fraud. Oh, he got his work done and followed orders. He even came up with a good idea now and then. But he knew in his heart that he just didn't have the stuff, what it took to really deserve a place in the stars. Leaving the laughing four, he floated back toward the aft hatch.
      Tananger spent the rest of the day running pressure tests on the cooling system. The pump was still holding fine, and there was no reason to suspect it would fail, but he could not shake a nagging feeling that he had done it wrong somehow, that the pump would fail and he would have to replace it again, or that perhaps even the joint would fail, spraying coolant into the Nexus. So he ran tests, and logged the results, and ran more tests. By the end of his shift he was feeling gray and tired, and utterly worthless. He considered stripping off his blues and floating down to get some sun, but the idea of facing the crew after his poor showing with the reflectors was abhorrent to him, and he turned in without supper.

      The next day he found himself repeating tasks over and over again. First he ha started to re-run the tests he had just finished the day before, then he flubbed a coolant purity test and had to repeat it three times. By lunch time he was so wrung out he found himself actually considering tendering his resignation. He was tired of running, of hiding his incompetence. Smith passed him in the hall, and Tananger remembered with a guilty start that he still hadn't gotten his ration of sun. Remembering that the Port Ponics module was often unused at lunch time, he took a burrito and floated over there.
      The Port Ponics module had no running track. It was mostly devoted to yeast and algae vats. Tananger stripped his blues off and floated free, eating in silence while the concentrated sun from the reflectors beat on his hairless body. He closed his eyes and drifted. For a long time his mind was blank, and he felt some measure of peace. Then he heard a soft sound, like sobbing, and he opened his eyes. The sound was coming from the far end of the module. He swam in the air to a stanchion, and pushed off toward the noise.
      He found her under a small set of short trees near the entrance. It was Nguyen, and she was curled in a ball, weeping on her pile of blues. He floated down to her and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.
      "You OK?" he asked. She turned away from him and curled tighter. He gathered her into his arms and held her, warm skin on warm skin. She resisted a moment, then allowed him to tuck her against his chest. He felt her cheeks wet on his chest. He just held her for a long moment, and finally she uncurled.
      "I'm sorry, I'm not usually this emotional," she said, wiping her eyes with her bare arm.
      "I know, I feel the same way myself right now," he found himself saying.
      "It's just that I don't know who to talk to," she said, and he felt the absurdity of what she was saying. Of course it was an invitation for him to ask what was wrong, and he would, but why couldn't she just tell him?
      "Yeah," he replied, "it's so hard sometimes to confide in someone, even a shipmate."
      "Everyone has their own problems, and I don't want to be a bother," she said, and he had this intense feeling of folding, like he was listening to himself talk in a mirror.
      "You're no bother," he replied, taking her face in his hands and looking her in the eyes. "What are you doing here crying?"
      "I I came to get some sun, and I got undressed, but then I don't know … I just couldn't hold it in any longer."
      He nodded. His response to the blackness he had been feeling was different, but he knew what she felt inside.
      "Can I tell you a secret?" he asked her. She looked at him, curious through her tears, and nodded. He swallowed hard.
      "I feel like a fraud here," he said, and he could see from the look in her eyes that he had gotten it right. "Oh, I have my credentials and I do my work, but I know that anyone on this ship could do my job better than I could if I gave them half a day with the manuals."
      She shook her head. "No, Frank. Your good at your job, I know you are. I see you do it every day and you're good! I …" she ducked her head for a moment, and when she looked up again she was weeping fresh tears. "I didn't mean to snap at you the other day."
      "I know," he said, and he had to look down for a moment. "That's what I mean, though. I know that I'm more of a burden than a help most of the time. I … I actually considered putting in my resignation today."
      "No, Frank! No!" She took his hands in her own. "It's just the SADD getting you. It's the darkness and … " She stopped and swallowed. "The darkness and the lack of sunlight. It's getting us all down."
      "Really?"
      "Yes, Frank. It is. We all feel it. I feel it. But I know with my mind and with my gut that you're good, just like we all are. We're one of the best crews in space. Right?"
      He nodded, smiling. Together they moved out from under the trees and pushed off. They linked arms back to back in a traditional space exercise posture and for ten minutes or so bounced around the inside of the module like a ball in a pinball game. Then they both slipped back into their blues and headed back to their stations.