Chapter Text
It starts with Ilyukhina.
Quite a lot of things on the Vat start with Ilyukhina. What can she say? She’s an ideas woman, and not just when it comes to mechanics. A genius engineer of machines, and also a genius engineer of fun. They all need to let loose sometimes, especially with the whole the-world-is-ending-and-now-you-live-in-the-sea thing they’ve got going on. She is the driving force behind dress-up night, murder mystery night and disco night. A few drinks, a few laughs, pretend you’re not going to die when this whole thing is over.
There are only two snags. The first is that alcohol consumption on the ship is restricted on the basis that too much of it disrupts efficiency. The second is that what alcohol they can access is shit. Weak American beers, a basic white and red wine, and no spirits in sight. Every time Ilyukhina goes to the bar – it’s not even really a bar, more a room with a few extra tables and shelves – she wants to punch the walls with frustration.
Ever a problem-solver, she comes up with her own solution. She hasn’t brewed her own alcohol before, but she knew people who did back home and she has access to plenty of equipment. All in all, it’s pretty easy to rig up a makeshift still. Space is at a premium, but she takes her clothes out of the tiny locker in her quarters and stashes them under the bed – sacrifices must be made, and she doesn’t mind being a bit wrinkled – which leaves just enough room.
In fact, she has more difficulty with ingredients than equipment. Food is not exactly rationed, but it’s purchased and served on a tight regime, what with so many mouths to feed. But – and with only a little breaking-and-entering required – she eventually gets hold of a bag of potatoes and another of quinoa, the closest thing to grains the kitchen has available.
The thing she struggles most with is sugar. A vodka purist wouldn’t use it, but sugar makes more and it makes it faster, and Ilyukhina likes to be efficient. She’d been unable to grab any when she raided the kitchen, and she soon realizes that it’s going to take her a very, very long time to gather enough sugar packets from the coffee machines to make the required two kilos. She considers breaking back into the stores, but it’s risky, and she’s growing impatient. So, even though it’s something an engineer shouldn’t do – sloppy work today means oops big explosion tomorrow – she cuts a corner. Hey, sometimes needs must. It’s drinking games night soon and if she has to have another warm beer from a can she will scream.
She goes to Grace. Grace, who is rarely without a packet of M&Ms in his pocket – he calls it his emergency chocolate pocket, the nerd – or a Red Vine in his mouth, or those toffees that Edwards in Development keeps slipping to him in the hopes, so far in vain, that it will make him put a good word in for them with Stratt. And he’s messy, leaves his stuff everywhere. All Ilyukhina has to do is go to his station and scoop a few things up. She doesn’t even feel bad about stealing from him. He won’t notice, Shapiro says he’s always losing his stuff, and it’s not like he’ll go short. Whatever Grace wants around here, Grace gets, even if he doesn’t ask for it. One of the perks of being Stratt’s favorite, even if the pair of them deny it.
Ilyukhina lingers outside the labs, pretending to read something on a clipboard, until Grace is called away. She glances up. The room is quiet. She hurries to Grace’s desk and pulls open the drawer. There are some pencils and what looks like stirring-rods on top, but underneath – yes! She drags out two family sized bags of Skittles, shoves them into her overalls, and scurries away.
There’s a good deal of excitement at drinking games night. Ilyukhina may have accidently-on-purpose let slip to Dimitri that she’s been brewing something, knowing that he would tell all the right people and none of the wrong ones. Technically, what she’s done breaks a lot of rules, but providing everyone shows up for work the next day no-one will make a fuss.
The gathering is small but lively; Dubois and Shapiro, who are fun enough despite constantly making it clear that they’re doing the nasty every chance they get; Dimitri; a few of her engineering friends. One of these days she’ll invite Yao, but not for this – that man takes his job too seriously for moonshine.
‘Ta da!’ Ilyukhina says, digging out the vodka from where she’d stored it in her bedside cabinet. ‘The main event!’
Everyone cheers. Ilyukhina has to admit it looks pretty good – she’d stolen four empty wine bottles from the bin behind the bar and rinsed them out, and the Skittles give the liquid inside a fun, slightly multicolored look.
Shapiro insists they play Uno first, bringing out the deck she’d brought with her. They’re all competitive, and it’s a while before anyone actually has to drink. In the end, it falls to Dubois, who gives a wry tilt of his head, and takes a shot.
He screws up his face.
‘What?’ Ilyukhina grins. ‘Too strong for Americans?’
Dubois licks his lips, sniffs the glass – a scientist, always experimenting – then shakes his head. ‘Too weak.’
‘What?’
She snatches the bottle he’s still holding and drinks straight from the top. Her brow wrinkles. ‘This is…’
Dimitri opens a second bottle, takes a swig. ‘Terrible,’ he mutters.
‘Yeah,’ Shapiro says, trying the third. ‘This is basically syrup.’
What Ilyukhina has produced, it seems, is a sugary, sticky mixture that is firstly not alcoholic, and secondly so sweet that it makes every single one of them wince.
She’s disappointed of course, in herself, more than anything. Perhaps the purists are right – she should have been patient, not use the sugar to speed things up. Or, perhaps, not assumed that Skittles would do. Cutting corners.
Still, it gives them all a good laugh. Dimitri has a bottle of smuggled gin that they substitute in, and the rest of the night is pretty fun. Of course, Ilyukhina is left with four bottles of terrible, sticky, non-vodka at the end of it – she offers people to take it away, but, unsurprisingly, no-one wants it.
‘It’s just too sweet,’ Shapiro says, the last to refuse the offering as she and Dubois leave – though she says it kindly, which Ilyukhina appreciates. Sometimes drama is fun, but tonight she must mourn her vodka failure. ‘Who’s going to want it? You’d be better just throwing it away.’
But she can’t bring herself to do that – so much wasted time! Then again, she certainly doesn’t want to consume it. Perhaps she can find a way to fix it?
Then, Ilyukhina smirks. She knows exactly who would want it.
‘Dr Grace,’ she says.
He barely glances up from the laptop he’s hunched over in what passes for his office. A pack of toilet rolls teeters precariously on the desk at his elbow. ‘Hm?’
‘I have something for you.’
That gets his attention. Grace looks up, no doubt expecting paperwork. ‘What?’
She sets the four bottles, packed in an old carrier bag, on the edge of the desk. ‘For you.’
‘What is it?’
She has an answer ready – she can hardly tell him what it was supposed to be. Grace is Stratt’s little lapdog after all, and Ilyukhina would rather avoid trouble.
‘Syrup,’ she says. It’s not really a lie, considering the stuff bears no resemblance to the vodka it was supposed to be. ‘I don’t like it. It’s too sweet.’
Grace picks up one of the bottles. He frowns at the ripped-off labels, the makeshift foil toppers. ‘Where did you get this?’
Ilyukhina tries to look innocent. She knows that she isn’t very good at it, but luck is on her side, because at that moment Grace’s phone pings. He glances at it, his attention immediately distracted.
‘From a friend,’ she says, knowing that Grace isn’t really listening to her – and, sure enough, he only makes a noise in the back of his throat in response, his eyes still on the phone.
Ilyukhina takes her chance. ‘Must run!’ she says. ‘Many important and impressive feats of engineering to complete before lunch!’
‘But…’
She’s away before he can get the rest of the sentence out, pleased to have offloaded the syrup onto someone who’ll at least use it, even appreciate it. There had been three packets of Reece’s amongst the mess on his desk, all of them open. It’s fitting, too, that it had come back to him. It had been made with his Skittles, after all.
Her next attempt at vodka is much more successful, and Ilyukhina forgets all about the syrup incident.