It’s been the better part of an hour when my thoughts turn back to the pod. It looks expensive, but whatever’s inside better be worth the cost of losing a crew member for a few weeks. We’re shorthanded as it is.

“Ant, can you come up here and fly us for a while? I want to check out the pod.”

“Sure. You sure you want to go out there?”

“No. But I need to know what we have. We might want to land under the radar if it’s something important.”

“Fair enough. No problem.” Headset off, check the heading. We’re on a straight course, no debris. We’ll be fine until Ant can get up here. Back to the bay, back to the lockers. Nishka is about my size, so her suit works fine. It’s easier to get into than to take off, too. I click on the gloves and boots, adjusting the microphone in front of my face before adding the helmet.

“Ant? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. Opening the bay doors now.” I click a tether into place on my back and step up to the doors as they open. Beneath them, a sky of stars. One deep breath, and I jump.

I’m not a jumper. But the feeling of elation as I pass through the hatch makes me wish that I was. Our ship becomes down, the stars up. I set my boot down on the edge of the pod’s hull. It stays there. I set my other foot down, leaning forward. One foot after another. I push off and float forward, the cockpit growing closer. My boots touch back down on the hull right where it meets the viewscreen.

There’s some coating on the clear surface that I can’t see through. Asteroid dust and crystallized fuel, probably. There’s always something leaking. I squat down and brush the thin layer off with my glove, making a large circle of clean surface. Now I can see straight into the cockpit.

There’s a girl in a white flightsuit, purple highlights, a blue patch on the shoulder. Her hair is shorter than mine, but it’s the exact same shade of dark brown as my own. She’s slumped over the console in front of her, so I can’t see her face from where I am. I slide around the pod to the edge of the viewscreen and wipe away the grime. There’s a web of cracks here, trace amounts of oxygen leaking out. But I can still see the pilot. Her eyes are closed, but I already know what color they would be if they were open.

This girl is me. I don’t know how, but she’s an exact copy in every way. She has the same starburst-looking scar above her right eye, the same part in her hair. There’s even a faded ring of skin on her finger where a ring should be. I frown. I have that ring on right now. She must have lost hers.

Me who is not me is sitting in an expensive spaceship wearing a formal flightsuit. She’s here, now, and she can’t even tell me how or why.

“How’s the view?” I jump, although my boots keep me firmly anchored to the pod.

“It’s fine. The pod has a passenger.”

“Nice. Someone we know?”

I hesitate. “Yes and no.”

“That’s helpful.”

“I’ll explain when I get back. But we’ll need to get her out as soon as we get in. I think the viewscreen is leaking.”

“You worry about that. I’ll land and get Nishka to medbay.”

“Thanks.” I look down at the pod again, trying to make out anything else useful. There’s a space behind her that leads somewhere, although I can’t tell where. But the pod is two-thirds as long as our ship, maybe twenty meters. There’s got to be an airlock somewhere. If I can get it open, maybe I can see about helping her before we even get to the station.

There’s an airlock over the right wing, towards the back of the pod. The door is so flush with the rest of the hull that it takes me the better part of half an hour to find it. No handle on the outside, just one panel. I press against it, first around the edges and in the corners then in the center. Nothing. There’s got to be a way in. I know it.

Focus. This is a high-end pod. So it’s going to have all of the features that the high-end pods right now do, plus maybe a few more. What do they have right now? Fingerprints won’t work through gloves, and I want to keep all my fingers. If there’s a passcode, I don’t know it. A retinal scan won’t work through my helmet. Maybe a voiceprint match? But how am I going to get my voice into that cockpit?

Wait, maybe I can. “Ant, you there?”

“Yep. What do you need?”

“I’m going to try something on the emergency channel really quick. No, I’m not in trouble.”

“Okay?”

“Thanks.” I reach over to the side of my helmet and flip a switch. The moment is still crisp, like you might expect from a new component. Well, this switch has gotten flipped maybe twice in its lifetime, so it’s newer than anything we own. Here goes nothing.

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“Computer, do you recognize me?” Theoretically my voice should be broadcasting behind the cracked canopy now, though the version of me in the cockpit doesn’t move. “Computer, recognize Allisyn Skyreach.”

I hold my breath as the line crackles for a second. “Skyreach, Allisyn confirmed. How can I help you?” The voice has a clipped accent, one I can’t quite place.

“I need to open the airlock.”

“To open the airlock you must first seal auxiliary doors and depressurize the corridor.”

“Can you do those for you?” I hear machinery whir to life inside the pod.

“Aux doors one, two, and three seals. Cockpit door sealed. Depressurizing.” There’s a faint hiss of escaping air, and crystallized clouds appear at the back of the wings. Okay, so there’s a vent system there. Good to know. “Cabin clear. You are go for EVA.”

“Computer, unseal the airlock.” There’s a louder whirring noise this time, kind of like the sound of a gravlock on the station. The panel I was tinkering with earlier pops out and slides aside, revealing the interior of the pod. I clip my tether to the edge of the pod’s wing and float inside, careful not to snag my suit on anything. “Close the door, please.” The airlock seals behind me.

Wow. I was not expecting this. Full white surfaces, and hardly a sharp edge in sight. All curves and indirect lighting. To the right, a hallway that ends in a sealed door. There’s an additional two doors on either side of the hallway, although the closest one on the right isn’t sealed. I turn the handle and pull it open. A lot duller in here, not near as much light. Looks like storage, maintenance, and repair. Nothing vacuum-volatile. Could be useful though. I close the door and make my way to the door at the end of the hallway. Beyond that door is another version of me. What am I supposed to say? Where is she even from? Is she a clone? A time traveler?

I can’t do anything until I get in there. “Computer, re-pressurize the hallway.”

“Oxygen levels climbing.” I wait until the accent informs me that it’s safe to breathe before twisting off my helmet and setting it on the ground. My gloves follow. I peel strands of sweat-soaked hair off my forehead and comb them back where they belong. The light on the door clicks to green, and the seal is broken. I pull on the door, but it won’t budge. What? I just fixed that problem. Again, harder this time. It’s not a big door in any sense of the word, but it takes an Orion effort to get it open. And as soon as there’s a gap in the metal, the air rushes into the cockpit. I force the door open the rest of the way and clamber into the cramped space beyond.

She’s sitting in an orange chair, still slumped over the console. One hand is still on the throttle, the other on a touchscreen keypad. A code is half-entered on the screen. I step forward and get pulled to the left. No, not pulled. Pushed. That’s where the crack in the viewscreen is. I grab hold of the chair and lean over it, my left foot braced against the wall. I unclick the harness straps and take her hand off the throttle. She’s lighter than expected, although I’m not in shape. It takes three tries to get her up and over the seat. I heave her out into the hallway and jump out myself, slamming the door behind me and sealing off the leak. Finally, peace and quiet.

I can’t see anything wrong with her, although I’m definitely not a medic. If we can do anything to help her, it’s going to be back aboard the ship. But I need a vacuum suit for her if we’re going to get back there. On a ship this size, she’s got to have one somewhere. I try the door across from the unsealed maintenance closet. Stars, first try. It’s her personal quarters, or, well, my personal quarters. In a clear cabinet on the wall is a folded suit, helmet on top. It has the same blue crest as the shoulder of her uniform, although I still have no clue what it means.

I don’t bother trying to make the suit fit comfortably, although I do double-check all the seals. I have to admit, I’m jealous of the design. The fabric is so much thinner, and the helmet has projected visuals on the viewscreen. Even the boots are sleeker. Maybe I’ll have to borrow it for a little bit while she’s out.

I re-don my own helmet and gloves and depressurize the hallway again, letting the panel slide aside to allow me back out into the vastness of space. I fasten my tether to the girl and hug her tightly. I have limited maneuverability, but the odds are still slim if I let go. Best just to hold on. With the airlock closed behind me, I look up to the open bay doors and push off the wing. Up, up, and into an atmosphere again. Even just a simulated one is nice. I push my clone towards the doorway to the rest of the ship and reel my tether in manually. No sense wasting power. Unclip, stow my belongings, wait for a few seconds by the vent with the cold air, and then call in.

“Ant, I’m done out there. You can close the bay doors.”

“Ten-four.” The doors grind close behind me. Finally, space to move and a nice safe space. Time to see what I can do for the other Alli.

I strip off her vacuum suit and stick it in a spare cabinet. ‘Spare’ just implies that it’s full of random junk because it doesn’t have an assigned purpose. Now she’s here and I can help her.

I’m not qualified to make a diagnosis, but I don’t see any immediate injury. So I don’t think she knocked herself out by hitting her head. Which either means she passed out due to lack of oxygen, or something else that I don’t understand. Maybe time travelers always pass out. How should I know?

Regardless, I’m going to treat her as if it’s decompression sickness. If it isn’t, well, then it can’t hurt. But Nishka’s in our one sickbed, so I’ve got to find a different place for this girl. Preferably somewhere that doesn’t become hazardous when we re-enter gravity.

Pretty much all of the ship has a ‘floor’ for when we’re in a gravity well, but there’s still a plethora of straps and hooks on it. I’ll put her in the control room, back behind the doorway. That way I can keep an eye on her while I fly us home. And there’s a spare oxygen canister up there too. That should help her come to sooner.

I float her ahead of me, hoping no one else is in the hallway. Jones is probably in his shipboard quarters, tinkering with something. Nishka’s out. And Ant’s piloting. I make it all the way up to the control room unhindered and push my twin’s body through the doorway. Ant turns around and raises an eyebrow.

“Is she dead?”

“I don’t think so. I’m gonna get her started on emergency oxygen, just to be safe.” I grab the orange canister from its alcove and strap the mask to her head. I crank the valve open just a little bit and let her breathing settle into a constant rhythm. Good. She’s holding on fine.