I ASKED Logan. “I don’t think so.” “Think?” “Sorry, some well-meaning scrub interrupted me before I could finish my calculations,” he teased, but his humor didn’t linger. “Can we fix the Transmission?” “I don’t know. The maintenance scrubs didn’t perform the routine cleaning and upkeep on it. I’ve a terrible feeling the Travas had been in charge.” Not good. Since Inside had a limited number of holding cells, most of the Trava family had been confined to their quarters in Sector D4. “Can I go back to work now?” Logan asked. “You can finish your calculations,” I said. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” “Nope.” I stood behind him as his fingers flew over the keyboard. After twenty minutes Logan whistled in relief, relaxing back against his chair. “Good news?” I asked. “We’re not about to crash into anything in the next four weeks.” He turned and met my gaze. “But?” “We might be on a collision course.” “Might?” Logan gestured weakly to the computer.
