Well, here goes nothing!

The rest of the day had been an absolute waste, which wasn't much different than what Olson had ready been experiencing.  He fiddled with the control panel as Mackie had disappeared to prepare for a visit to the captain, but neither man had much to do.  There wasn't much to do period, except stare helplessly at the decreasing energy of the engines.  Eventually, Olson decided that his services were no longer needed for the day and made his way out back towards the common area.  In the meantime, Mackie had gone to propose the idea of cutting of the heat to preserve energy to the captain.  He didn't trust his junior engineer in aiding him with the task, in fact he didn't trust his junior engineer with much of anything.

The mess hall was located next to the desolate commons and today actually appeared to have a few fellow crew members.  Olson admittedly hadn't seen the two young men on the ship before, but considering the original staff number of the Esperanza was well over two hundred, he wasn't surprised.  The current number had to be around sixty, most of whom had long given up hope or caring.  This may have explained the dire state of things on the ship.

"Hello!" one of the men greeted cheerfully, gesturing Olson to join them.  

They looked to be in their mid -twenties, the same as Olson, and appeared to be better groomed.  While the two were clean shaven and had fresh hair cuts, Olson sported a patchy five o'clock shadow that would never quite qualify as a beard and shaggy, dirty blond hair.  He also looked like he hadn't slept in days, while the two men looked quite professional and sharp.  It was almost as if they were from another world.

"Armin Lyster, and this is my partner Dener Cavalcanti.  We're aeronauts.  Pleasure to see someone down here for once! It always feels so dead down here."

Aeronauts.  Ah yes, this meant that the two of them were pilots of the  ship.  It was a minor miracle to see the two of them down here in the bowels of the Esperanza.  Few people from the bridge ventured down this way recently, and truthfully Olson didn't blame them.  It was neglected and badly damaged, but there seemed to be more pressing matters at hand than cleaning up a few stations that weren't necessary in the grand scheme of things.

"Olson Pettigrew.  Junior engineer."

The two grinned.  "No way!  You're one of the three who keeps this girl running?  We just assumed you guys bailed along with everyone else or just locked yourself in the engine room.  Ha!  This is great."

Olson would find that the bleach blond Armin did most of the talking.  He had a slight accent that he couldn't quite place (it sounded vaguely Australian, but clearly wasn't) and had a clearly defined jaw line.  He certainly looked the part of a pilot.  The aeronaut was animated while he spoke, waving his arms as he described navigating through multiple asteroid belts on previous missions or emergency crash landings.  He seemed to have an extravagant story for every situation, and each story seemed to get more and more fanciful.  If he didn't know any better, it seemed that Armin was making a lot of this up.

"Dener!  Get us a dop, ja?"

The shorter and quieter aeronaut got up and scurried to the back of the mess hall as Armin slipped deeper into his accent, which Olson would eventually find out was South African.  The mess hall was already darkened and cold, yet in comparison to the common area was quite clean and free of any unusual and unwelcome objects and smells.  As Armin spoke, he would change topics frequently without rhyme or reason and talked quickly.  It proved tricky to follow him.

"Do you have a stekie, a girlfriend?"

Olson paused momentarily.  He hadn't been asked this in weeks, but the subject was still touchy.

"I did."

"Oh.  On the ship?  Or back home."

"We had been seeing each other during training.  She was stationed on the ship along with me, none of the superiors knew."

Armin grinned widely.  There was one thing he liked more than talking, and that seemed to be gossip.  Dener had made his way back to the white, fiberglass table with two glasses of what appeared to be a clear looking alcohol.

"The machine says this is all they have.  It's awful." he told Armin as he sat down, making a disgusted face.  "I'm not sure I want to drink it, it tastes like petrol."

"Ha!  And you know what petrol tastes like, right?  Grog's grog, man.  Enjoy it with what time we have left.  Anyways, Olson, about this girl, she still here?  Or did she bail as well?"

Olson again paused.  He didn't like the discussion involving his personal life considering how private he was, but seeing as the two seemed to be interested, he didn't want to disappoint.  He hadn't had company outside of the engineering crew for too long.

"She is, I think.  Sciences department, near you guys.  I don't go over there much seeing as I'm needed down here more, so we don't see each other.  Besides, considering how things ended, it's for the best."

"How so?"  Armin asked, taking a sip.  He grimaced.  "Fok me, this does taste like petrol."

"The whole mutiny attempt.  We had differing viewpoints on it.  She wanted to keep going, regardless of how weak and old the engines are.  I knew they wouldn't hold out, all of us did.  So we had a nasty fight over that, I wanted to turn back.  Back there we could have had a much more suitable craft take this trip.  This trip has become a suicide mission.  Anyways, things were said, things I'd like to take back."

The two nodded.  Olson sat staring blankly at nothing.  He had done his best to keep his mind off of her, hoping the guilt and anguish would wear off by losing himself in his work, but it never worked.

"Captain Zimin is confident we will reach the destination soon.  We are close to it."  Dener said, trying to sound reassuring and optimistic.  "On the planet we're going to, they have what we need to refuel the engines!"

He was wrong, Captain Zimin had long told the crew that they were close to the destination for days now, but most everyone knew it was bullshit.  Zimin was either in denial of their situation or trying to reassure the remaining crew that they were in the right for staying.  Olson hadn't had the pleasure of meeting the captain outside of a few chance sightings, so he never knew which of the two to believe.  He had recalled Mackie claiming it was the former, but then again Mackie was never fully fair in his analysis of people.

Time passed shortly before Armin took another sip of his petrol-flavoured drink.  "Fok if we don't have to get back.  You should visit us up there, though!  You'll be treated like a celebrity, we just think the ship's engineering is by computer now."

Armin had spoke the last sentence quietly.

"You should amend things with your girl, serious.  We don't have much time, I think."

Olson smiled and nodded.  He hadn't planned to do that.  Not after what transpired, he was quite certain she had no desire to see him.  Then again, Olson had a habit he needed to break of assuming the feelings and thoughts of other people.  Maybe he should, but as he pondered, staring at the two unfinished glass mugs in front of him, the lights again flickered, bringing him back to reality.  This flicker was different, though.  It lasted much longer than the previous ones, and was preceded by a pair of smaller flickers.  Bad news, he thought, bad news indeed.

Things had become increasingly bleak in recent weeks on the Esperanza.

Olson had long realized this, but at this moment the realization hit him hard as he slowly made his way through what was left of the common area.  At one point in time the commons would be heavily populated and lively with conversation and laughter.  The crew would hold art or singing contests to pass the time and impromptu games of football would occasionally break out as well given the large size of the room.  Olson would often partake in those games, it usually was his only real outlet to socializing with the crew at large.  

Not now though, now all he could do was sigh at the sight.

The once lively common area had been transformed into a scene of chaos.  Debris was strewn everywhere while piles of trash and refuse began to grow in the corners.  If one didn't know any better, it appeared that a riot had occurred here, or that the crew of the Esperanza had been using it as a makeshift dump.  It had become an unwelcome reminder of what had transpired only a few short weeks before, although to the remaining crew it felt like it had been years.  Olson nudged a discarded can with his foot before kicking it with a tremendous force.  Whether it was anger or despair that drove the kick he did not know, all he did know was that it made a loud yet hollow clang against the metal wall.  He sighed again.

As he made his way through the neglected room towards the engine room he saw the lights in the narrow corridor flicker momentarily.  This was a negative reminder of the current situation of the ship that actually made Olson pick up the pace towards his station.  The flickering had been going on for a few days, and it was always infrequent, but as a junior engineer he knew exactly what it meant.  Power was draining from the engines and it would only increase if they didn't stop to repair it.  Of course, stopping also had the risk of killing the engines entirely, a risk few wanted to test.

"We're losing juice."

Olson was greeted with those words as he entered the engine room.  The room was large, cold, and actually quite barren, aside from the house-sized dual engines that occupied the centre.  Standing at the control panel in front of one of the monsterous, cube-like engines was Mackie, one of the senior engineers and perhaps one of the few people Olson couldn't stand on the ship.  Mackie was tall with greying hair and had a deep mumbling voice that often required him being asked to repeat things he had just said.  He often treated Olson as an inconvenience and talked down to him or treated him like a child, a fact the junior engineer had long resented.

"How?" Olson asked.  He already knew why, but the question came out regardless. 

Mackie had a look on his face that could be best described as contemptuous as he stared at Olson.  He fiddled a bit with the controls and eventually brought up a chart on the large screen in front of him.  The chart showed a gradual decrease represented as a slope.

"We're not built to go this far, this long." Mackie said as he took down the chart.  "We're not gonna last much longer unless we find some alternate power sources.  Considering where we are, that's highly unlikely."

Mackie sighed as he turned his back to Olson.  There was an unspoken truth that both men knew, and both were equally afraid to openly say or admit it.  

"How much longer do we have?"

Mackie didn't even turn around.  "The rate right now?  Three or four days before one of the engines dies, a week for both of them.  If we cut the heat to the ship, it may give us an extra week, if we cut the lights a few days longer than that.  Ain't looking good."