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Tara Dayton shifted in her sleeping bag, her eyes half open. The ticking of the dosimeter had slowed to nothing like it had been. It had been eighteen long, mostly boring hours. Her hair floated about her face and she brushed it aside groggily.

The dark cylindrical room was quiet, the crew was mostly asleep. She smiled with satisfaction, remembering the impromptu orgy that had broken out a few hours before. She hadn’t joined in, even though she wanted to, but was glad it happened regardless. If ever she wanted a sign the crew was getting along with each other, them having sex with each other must have been one. Casting her eyes around the capsule again, she saw Gabriel Alphonse floating over to her.

“Hey Tara,” he said in a low voice, “the rad levels are down enough for short exposures. Probably safe to move back in a few more hours.”

“Good, I wondered when I heard the meter ticking so slow. No reason to send anyone out there till it’s safe I reckon. No emergencies or reason for exposure.”

“We’ve seen a fair bit of exposure here already,” said Alphonse, smirking, “skin and rads.”

“Hah, that we have,” chuckled Dayton, “did you enjoy the show? I noticed you didn’t join in…”

“It was a lovely spectacle, but alas, no, I didn’t feel like I should join.”

“You don’t have to restrain yourself Doctor,” she said cheerfully, “I understand we’re all your patients, but being the only doctor on the ship, I feel like you avoid that ethical conundrum.”

“Something to consider,” he nodded. Dayton wondered if he would correctly point out that she didn’t join in either, or that her rationale was similar, but he left the subject there instead. There’ll be time for that later anyways she thought. Besides, she had her own… entertainment.

“Let me know when rad is down enough to move back in. We’ll stay for now.” She told him, and Alphonse nodded and departed, floating down to his small station. Lyndon Carson, in his bag across the room from Dayton, watched the two speak and when Alphonse left, Carson got out and drifted over in his underwear.

“We getting out of here or what,” he asked sharply.

“Oh in time Mister Carson,” she said, disapproving of his tone. “A few hours, Alphonse will tell me.”

“What about the plants? They need light, real light.”

“They’ll get their light, only a few hours. Relax.” She stretched and yawned, then added, “be patient.”

“I’m patient,” he said with annoyance, “the plants aren’t. But whatever, couple hours they’ll be fine, but if we need to get comfortable here, or if there’s another storm, we need lighting in here for them.”

“If we had spare light rigs or time to move them before a storm I’d agree with you,” conceded Dayton, “but we don’t. We’ll need to take the risk.”

“Tara listen,” he started before she cut him off.

“Don’t Tara listen, me,” she said curtly, “unless you can move your lighting rigs in five minutes or build more, we have what we have.”

Carson sighed loudly.

“You need to relax Lyndon,” she said after a time, “you should have joined in the fun,” she added, winking.

“Maybe I’ll relax one day,” he said with a chuckle, “but it’s not this day.”

“I’ll let you know when we can move back,” she told him, and he departed. Dayton closed her eyes, enjoying the weightless relaxation, but was restless. Lyndon’s concerns did worry her, but there was nothing she could do about them. The fact they hadn’t found any real evidence of a spy worried her more. She didn’t confide these worries with Carson, or anyone else. Now was the time to let the spy get complacent.

If the spy existed at all. She remembered the meetings with the company people after Greenland. For the crew she’d tried to put on a brave, conciliatory face, but the bosses were angry, and they said so.

But what, she asked herself, was she supposed to do? They finally had team cohesion and a proper sense of purpose, they were succeeding and even having fun during a crisis. How can she start them on a spy hunt again? Sleep came over her before she could answer.

Tara Dayton awoke to Gabriel Alphonse floating in front of her.

“We’re good to go Tara,” he said to he softly.

“Hughh,” she croaked, looking up at him, “oh… good, give me a sec here.” She rubbed sleep out of her eyes. “Wake up the crew… I’ll uh, be right there.”

Dayton stretched, surprised she’d slept at all. Around her, the crew were starting to wake up and get dressed. Next to her, Ramona Wagner was stirring. She was looking at her phone, sleeping bag open, wearing just underwear and a bra.

“Hey we have signal,” she exclaimed to Raynor Schwartz, in the bag next to hers. “I wish we’d had it a few hours ago though,” she added. That stood out to Dayton. Maybe she was bored, but a few hours ago made it sound like something else. Dayton made a note of that for later, and began to dress, fumbling awkwardly with her jumpsuit in the zero-G. Lyndon Carson floated up to her, his eyes roaming her body.

“Something I can help you with Carson? Or are you just enjoying the view?”

“Heh,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, “maybe. Call it a perk. Anyways, can I start moving the plants downstairs?”

“Certainly. If you’re done ogling me anyway. I take it you… Good.” He was getting to confident, and Dayton knew she was going to have to redress their relationship a bit. He was busy today, but soon.

“Listen up crew,” she said loudly. They looked to her, and she explained the situation. “We’re going to head back in but listen; keep your fuckin dosimeters on and visible. Keep your intercoms too. That sensor starts clicking, or we see another storm on the way, it’s back up here double-quick. Got it? Ok good. Now then, most of you, everyone except the medics I reckon, will be needed to help botany with their set up, so let’s get to work. Oh and pilots, let’s have some warm grub.”

At the last part, the crew smiled. 36hrs of foil wrapped emergency rations was more than enough. The way the crew moved to their duties made her smile with confidence. They were better for this crisis; she was sure of it. She finished packing her things and headed down the passageway to the habitable area. She let herself fall down the ladder, slowly accelerating as the gravity increased. In spite of being only .4 of Earth, she felt sore and enfeebled by the sudden weight pressing down on her once again. She had never truly felt gravity like she was.

Dayton headed to her room, but she stopped when she passed the cafeteria. The two pilots, and the medical staff were standing in a circle.

“What’s up guys,” she asked as she approached. They had concerned expressions on their faces.

“Look at this Tara,” said Alain, pointing to the ground. A rat lay on the floor, dead, in the middle of the circle. “It was like this when we got here.”

“A dead rat? On a spaceship,” she asked incredulously. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Must have snuck aboard and died from the radiation,” said Kellerman moving the stiff cadaver with a pencil.

“Guess that tells us how bad the rad out here was,” said Alain, whistling softly.

“We don’t all need to be here guys. It’s a dead rat, if there were more stowaway rats they’re likely dead too so don’t worry about it.”

“But the radiation is high…” started Alphonse, but he trailed off and Dayton answered him.

“It was high. Now, it’s not. And if it was, well, you all got another ship with better shielding to travel on? Keep. Checking. Your. Dosimeters.” Everyone nodded, and Kellerman took the rat to the compost while the others left to go about their duties.

Dayton entered her room and sat heavily down at her small desk. She opened her computer and began checking the emails she had missed. 36 hours was a long blackout for the mission commander, and the backlog was considerable.

She started by sending a small status report telling command they were back online, and that radiation had dropped down to reasonable levels. They were around three light minutes away, according to her computer.

Most of the dozen or so messages were boilerplate. Solar weather updates, news, stuff she could look at after. She checked that the medical team was CC’ed on the solar weather reports. There was one left addressed to her specifically, and she saved it for last.

ATTEN: DAYTON SPECIAL ORDERS

The only time read something mentioning ‘special orders,’ it was to do with espionage. When she clicked the link, her confusion increased; it was password protected. Her computer was of course, but having the second layer of security was even rarer. She entered it and opened the document, curiosity aroused.

Security situation with Space Y and Green Mars deteriorating. Major raids on multiple locations. Expect increase in disruption and espionage.

Multiple raids? She was shocked. Did that mean the two companies were fighting? She knew both had security forces but raids? She was shocked and kept reading.

Prior efforts by Space Y, including sabotage of Hermes lander appear to have been ordered at the highest level. Increase security, watchfulness, and for spies. If company correct, and spy is aboard, then expect them to become active at this news.

“If the company is correct,” leapt out from the screen. Clearly, their paranoia and desire for spy catching was indeed based on some information. Why wouldn’t they tell her?

All means to end spy activity are to be employed. Mission Commanded T F Dayton granted full authority in this matter.

The last sentence sent a chill up Dayton’s spine. To her, “full authority,” could only mean one thing: they want the spy dead.

She closed the page without answering and sat back in her chair. Her buoyant mood turned to anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She’d felt like a creepy big sister character when she was spying on the spies, but she had truly believed with the launch behind them, and only Mars in ahead, she could relax if only a little.

Dayton opened up the security camera app and smacked her hand in frustration on the desk. Part of the reason for the whole North Pole operation was to bring the spy out in the open, but nothing came up. Nothing at all. Now, the idea of catching the spy filled her with horror. What could she do if she succeeds? Was she going to **** someone for this company?

She looked over her camera feeds, not expecting to see much. Most of the crew was working on moving the plants back to the growing hall. The pilots were getting out the food they’d need for breakfast. Nothing was out of the ordinary. She was about to close the laptop, but she noticed that Ramona Wagner was back on her intercom again, clearly distracted.

“Who are you talking to,” Dayton muttered, zooming in on the intercom screen. It was too small, but Wagner was typing quickly. She looked more distracted than Dayton had seen her before. Of all the people who could be spies, she never considered Ramona high on that list. If she was, then Schwartz might be compromised too and that seemed to dire a situation to contemplate. Dayton tried once more to zoom in on the intercom, then closed the window in disgust.

Dayton wondered if this was more of a violation of her privacy than when she’d watched her porn. At least that was supposed to be public. Somehow watching her strip and masturbate seemed less invasive than looking over her shoulder in this moment. Maybe it was the fact that what was on her intercom could be a threat to her life, or the mission? Confusion and doubt unlike Dayton had felt in a while made her question everything.

Dayton looked slowly around the room. It was hard to believe that being here twelve hours ago would have been lethal. The little plant on her desk was looking discoloured. She thought nothing of it and returned to the computer.

Pamala Sheldon was on the center of her screen. She, like Wagner, was on her intercom, typing away. Dayton was surprised that anyone was that distracted by them. It wasn’t like being on your phone with the internet at your fingertips, responding to anything to a while and surfing websites was aggravating in the **** when each click means a five minute or longer wait. Dayton zoomed into the screen. She saw a messenger app and an addressee named Joe. Sheldon moved, and the screen was obscured.

“Shit,” spat Dayton, following for a moment, then giving up as Sheldon put her phone away. She had to admit part of this was fun. The chase, it was exhilarating even if she didn’t want to actually catch the spy. She hoped beyond anything that there wasn’t one, but doubt filled her. She idly watched Lyndon Carson give instructions to the others.

“Going to have to make new rules for that one,” she muttered wickedly. She liked the leadership and initiative he’d shown lately, but she didn’t like the attitude that came with it. “Will have to remind him whose pleasure he serves at.”

Dayton closed the computer and laid on bed, enjoying the sensation gravity pushing her into it. She’d taken that for granted she mused, shifting herself into the best spot. The crew was working well, very well in fact, there was no reason to disturb them today. They’d gelled, dealt with a crisis, and had an orgy.

That was enough for this week.