Carriles felt the slight tug of gravity as their tiny ship landed on the surface of Reos. It gave a shudder as the engine settled down.
Carriles scanned his small detail behind him. Liu. Vicks. Izaiah.
Of the group, Carriles wasn’t sure who he trusted. But you play the hand you’re dealt, right? Each person had their drawbacks. For all he knew, Izaiah could be setting them all up. Vicks could be playing her own version of a long game with Delmar in the brig. And Liu—well, Carriles did trust her. But there was always a wild card.
Carriles stepped off the ship and onto the arid, tropical landscape. Reos was tidally locked, meaning that, as it orbited its host star, one side was perpetually facing the light, and the other, the darkness of space. Both sides were uninhabitable—either boiling hot or freezing cold. But there was a thin Goldilocks zone, approximately three hundred miles in width, wrapping around the planet like a ring. Earth’s scientists had determined that, based on an abundance of factors, there was water, breathable air, and habitable land.
“Wow,” Liu said.
She was staring up at the sky, and Carriles followed her gaze, at the subdued rose-tinged twilight. That golden hour before the sun sets on a perfect summer day—something he had only seen on a few visits to Earth. On Reos the sun never rose or set, which meant every day the people who lived here lived in this twilight hour.
He glanced over at Izaiah, and for the first time the cook was smiling a serene smile, letting the warmth of the sun’s reaching rays warm his face.
“Good to be home?” Carriles asked him.
“You have no idea,” Izaiah said. “Humans . . . are not always fun.”
Humidity crept in, a dampness forming on Carriles’s back and under his arms. It was pleasant, after three months of being on a spaceship that swung in temperature between icebox and sauna, depending on what section you were in, and perpetually stunk of feet. Carriles felt an urge to ditch this entire mission and find a nice watering hole to disappear for a few years.
“You ready?” Liu asked, snapping Carriles back.
He nodded. “Just wanted to enjoy it for a second,” he said, scanning the landscape before them—full of green, sprawling things that looked like palm trees, but fuller, and bushes overflowing with purple berries, all of it spreading for miles. It was unlike anything Carriles had ever seen or experienced.
“Reos is beautiful,” Izaiah said as he led them down a wide earthen path. “I’ve missed it.”
“We’re not here to sightsee,” Vicks said, looking down at her portable scanner. “We need to find the Chinese contingent of our crew and leave. Immediately.”
“Vicks is right. Where do we go?” Carriles asked, turning to the former Mosaic chef.
“On the other side of that clearing, there’s a building—our equivalent of your Interstellar Union headquarters. I imagine your crew is being held there. But finding them will be the easy part.”
“What do you mean?” Liu interjected.
“The Mutual is a peaceful league of planets and races. They strive for understanding and harmony. But they should not be pissed off, as you humans say,” Izaiah said, motioning for them to follow him. “And if I had to guess, they are very, very pissed off.”
Carriles leaned into Liu and lowered his voice, so as not to be overheard.
“We need to be smart about this,” he said. “It’s not just about getting Wu and his people back. These Reosians—they can just shoot us out of the sky. We need to leave on good terms.”
“I agree,” Liu said. “But how do we convince an intergalactic superpower that we represent humanity, as opposed to the meathead warmongers they’ve been dealing with since we first picked up their comms?”
“I never said it would be easy,” Carriles said.
He stopped himself from saying anything else. In front of them was a small concrete enclosure. It’d almost snuck up on them, Carriles realized—tucked into a larger rock formation, the entrance almost hidden by marsh and greenery.
“This is it,” Izaiah said, motioning for the group.
Vicks pulled out her blaster, more out of instinct than strategy. Carriles stepped in front of her.
“Are you insane?”
“I believe the term you seek is pragmatic,” she said with a slight head tilt that screamed: Get this idiot out of my way.
“Vicks, these people already think we’re animals that need to be put down,” Carriles said, motioning toward the entryway. “Do you want to prove them right?”
Vicks met Carriles’s gaze, her dark eyes wide and fearless. “I want to get our crew back. I want to make up for our captain’s treason. Everything else is secondary,” she said.
Carriles watched as she slowly holstered her sidearm—which had the telltale scorch marks around the barrel that meant it had been used often.
“But I see your point, Lieutenant.” Vicks’s emphasis on Carriles’s lower rank was not lost on him.
But trivial in the grand scheme of things. It took all of Carriles’s self-control to not let out a long, relieved sigh.
A massive stone wall, flat and smooth as concrete but with a subtle blue iridescence, appeared through the tree line. “There we go,” Izaiah said.
“Can you go in first? Friendly face and all that?” Carriles said.
The former chef nodded and walked toward a doorway in the side of the construct, covered in heavy black curtains. Carriles tried to make out the shape of the building but couldn’t. It was four stories tall, at least, but he couldn’t see either end of it, the way it disappeared into the trees surrounding it. Izaiah pushed through the heavy curtains and Carriles half expected to start hearing blaster fire. Instead, he heard . . . laughter? Loud, boisterous laughter.
Carriles, Liu, and Vicks stepped closer to the opening.
What they saw at the other side stopped them cold.
It was Izaiah, hoisting another man—similar in size, but this man’s skin was a pale gray. His skull was shaped slightly differently than a human’s. It was narrower, fuller at the top. His musculature seemed slightly off. It made Carriles wonder about what kind of procedures Izaiah had to go through to appear more human—darkening his skin, reshaping his bone structure. And it made him wonder about how advanced these Reosians were when it came to medical procedures.
Carriles was comforted by the sound of the laughter. It was guttural and freewheeling. The kind of noise a toddler would make, but that people grew out of as society burdens them with things like manners. It was the first friendly sound Carriles had heard in days.
Izaiah turned toward the Mosaic crew, his arm draped over his comrade.
“So these are them?” the other man asked, his voice at the same slightly awkward register that Izaiah had taken on when Carriles first learned the truth about him. “These are humans?”
“They are,” Izaiah said, introducing each of them in turn. Then he said, “This is Graff. We went through the trials together, many seasons ago. We are like brothers.”
“The trials?” Liu asked.
Izaiah nodded excitedly.
“When a Reosian reaches the age of maturity, they are expected to become one with not only knowledge—with science, mathematics—but with the planet itself. The water. The air. The dirt. You spend a month in the wildest corners of the Shacos’byan fields—the tangled jungles, the wild rivers, the jagged cliffs, with nothing. You begin with just your clothes and your mind. Being in the wild is not the test, though. It is the backdrop. The Reos leaders prepare a series of tests—mental and physical—that are thrown at you when you least expect it. Natural threats and mechanical. But bonds are formed with your group. The handful of people who head out into the madness with you. Survival is not guaranteed. But deep bonds are.”
“Uh, well, nice to meet you, Graff,” Carriles said. He fought the urge to extend a hand to the new man. Maybe handshakes weren’t a thing on Reos? “We’re here to find our crewmates.”
“You mean the people you opened fire on?” Graff said, bemused.
“We did not do that,” Vicks said tersely. “The people who did were blindsided by their own captain.”
Graff grunted. “Is that how humanity conducts itself, Izaiah? With a knife in the back of their own people?”
Izaiah started to nod, but stopped himself.
“Not all of them, brother,” he said solemnly. “These here—they are kind, compassionate. They hope to speak with the Mutual.”
Graff crinkled his nose, as if smelling something strange and unpleasant.
“You ask much of me,” he said. “But I do know our leaders wish to see you, Izaiah. Perhaps that is your path.”
Izaiah nodded.
“He’s right,” the former chef said, looking at Carriles. “You and your crew can accompany me when I give my report. That will be your chance.”
“Chance to what?” Liu asked.
Izaiah chuckled.
“To make it out of here alive.”
[ASTERISM]
Carriles had expected to be brought to the Chinese contingent of the crew. Instead, they were shuffled into a blank, round room made of polished stone, on one side of which was a curtain. Izaiah disappeared through it, and while Carriles, Liu, and Vicks waited, Graff watched over them. Carriles had so many questions he didn’t know where to start.
“So,” Carriles asked, “what do you do for fun on Reos?”
“I like to read,” Graff said, after a moment of contemplation.
“Read anything good lately?” he asked, realizing it was a silly question.
But Graff lit up. “The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury.”
“Hey, I know that one!” Carriles said. “I love Bradbury.”
“The Mutual has long known of Earth’s existence. We largely ignored you. When you first made contact, many became curious. We began to examine your culture. Some of your books have become quite popular. Bradbury. Asimov. Le Guin.”
“Good ones. Have you read any Frank Herbert?”
“I have not,” Graff said.
“Dune. Give it a shot. One of my favorites. Weird and trippy in the best way.”
Graff nodded. “I’ll have to procure that one—”
He was cut off by Izaiah coming back through the curtain.
“So can I see my people?” Carriles asked the former cook.
“Our leaders want to hear from you first,” Izaiah said.
“We already lost Shad. But if there are any survivors, we owe it to them to bring them home. I want to be sure everyone is accounted for.”
Izaiah turned to Graff and nodded toward Liu. “This one is their doctor. Take her to see the crew.” To Carriles: “We did our best to treat them, but she might want to look at them as well. Acceptable?”
“No,” Carriles said. “How do I know you’re not going to march her into a cell, or over a cliff?”
“You’re in no position to make demands . . .” Iziah started.
“I need to protect my . . .” Carriles said.
Liu raised her voice. “Jose, listen to me.” The doctor had a look of grim determination on her face. “It’s okay. The only way we’re going to get trust is by giving it. I’ll check on everyone. You go in there.”
“Fine,” Carriles said, realizing she was right. Graff took Liu gently by the arm and led her out of the room as Izaiah turned to the curtain.
“Let’s go.”
“Should we coordinate or something?” Carriles asked Vicks under his breath. “Get our stories straight?”
He thought he saw her smile, but he might have imagined it.
Something about Vicks’s expression reminded Carriles of his mother. Years before, when he had to have been a little older than twelve. He still felt the itchiness of the suit he was wearing. The discomfort. They’d been in the Martian Senate chamber, awaiting his mother’s swearing-in ceremony. It should’ve been a memorable day for her. The election had been a hard slog, but now she was here—in these hallowed halls.
Even at twelve, Carriles hated it. The ceremony. The clothing. The quiet. The breathless anticipation. Why not get to work, he thought? Why do this part? He let out a long sigh and almost immediately felt his mother’s fingernails dig into his arm—deep enough to let him know she’d heard.
“This is an important moment for me, Jose,” she said, her tone muted. “I brought you here so you could witness this. Something many would kill to see.”
“It’s boring,” Carriles said with a pouty shrug. “Why do all this stupid stuff beforehand? This is why the government—”
“Jose, I know you feel like you know everything, but you don’t,” she continued, her eyes on the dais as another senator-elect was brought up. “Sometimes the ceremony is as important as the work. We need to remind ourselves why we do the things we do. Why we uphold these traditions.”
“But why do I need to be here? I could be back home with papi, testing out that hover—”
“Life isn’t just about what we want to do, mijo,” she said, turning to look at him now, a pained look on her face. “We have responsibilities. And one of the biggest responsibilities in the world is simple: showing up. Being present for the people who need you. It’s the difference between the successful man with no friends and the good man who is never lonely. You’re so smart, Jose. I love you for that. But don’t outsmart yourself. Doing the right thing isn’t complicated. Don’t overthink it.”
Carriles blinked the memory away, pulled back by Vicks—her words echoing through his mind.
“Did you hear me?” she said.
“What?”
“I just said it’s okay to be nervous,” she said, sounding placid and calm. “But you got this.”
They stepped through the black drapes and found themselves outside again, in a massive coliseum-like structure, surrounded by seven tall, gigantic stone towers. The edifice felt ancient and modern at once, the aged stone polished to a fine finish. Atop each of the individual towers, Carriles could make out smaller figures—they were so high up, Carriles wondered how they got there.
They looked down at Vicks, Izaiah, and Carriles, standing in the center. Each of them were draped in flowing red and green robes. Carriles wasn’t sure what each color meant, and it was too late to ask. He felt a slight breeze through the sprawling field.
“Jose Carriles, representative of New Destiny, pilot of the Mosaic,” a booming voice rang through the chamber, echoing across the pillars. Carriles looked up and saw a female Reosian. He assumed she was female; despite being well-built and stocky like Graff and Izaiah, she had longer hair and softer features. She lifted a large, smooth rock over her head. The other Reosian leaders looked on with deference.
This was the boss, Carriles thought. Of Reos, or the Mutual? He had no idea how the power structure worked.
“You were invited here by our envoy, Izaiah, who has told us about you—your people and your cultures. We have had our own experiences, too. Experiences that have left a bitter taste. A sense of betrayal and distrust. Your people spied on our communications. We engaged with your leaders and found them to be petty and selfish. We told them the human race had much growing to do before being considered for membership. Instead of waiting for the right time, you instead chose the path of deception, subterfuge, and cowardice. The hubris of youth does not even begin to account for how you and your people have failed. How do you respond to this?”
A deep silence followed. Carriles could feel Vicks’s and Izaiah’s eyes on him. Could feel the stares from above.
How had things gotten so fucked up, he wondered? That he, a screwup pilot coasting on favors onto the Mosaic, was now humanity’s advocate?
His mouth went dry and his throat constricted.
Why did this have to come down to him?
But the longer everyone stared, the more he realized he had to say something.
“First, thank you for this audience. I know we don’t deserve it,” Carriles said. A little ass-kissing couldn’t hurt, he thought. It’d allow him to vamp for a minute. To get his ducks in a row. “And thank you for preserving the life of our crew members, and for allowing us to defend ourselves despite the actions of our fellow people.”
Carriles tried to clear his throat. What he’d give for a glass of water.
“It is true, that our leaders tried to deceive you,” Carriles said, looking up into the sky, trying to make eye contact with the woman holding the giant, smooth rock over her head. How was she not tired, doing that? Was she going to throw it at him if he said the wrong thing?
“But the decisions of a handful of people do not represent the whole. It doesn’t stand for everyone. There are good people on New Destiny. Children. Innocents. We were told the goals of the Mosaic were ones of exploration, not war. Of discovery. Most of us wouldn’t have signed on to this mission in the first place if we knew what they were planning to do. It’s not what we stand for. It’s what the insulated people, the elites, want. I wish we lived in a world where we could trust our leaders, but they’re often petty and cruel—unqualified and selfish people who are out for themselves, rather than the good of humanity.”
The woman seemed to smirk. “But you choose your leaders, no?”
“It’s not so simple . . .”
Carriles rubbed his eyes and suddenly felt very tired.
“I ask that you don’t judge us as a whole based on the actions of a few,” he said. “Our crewmates are here. We knew we might die the second we touched down, but we couldn’t consider leaving them behind. Doesn’t that say something?”
The woman, far up in the sky, responded by letting the rock drop. It landed with a sharp crack a few feet in front of Carriles. It was obsidian-looking, thick and smooth and large. Despite its size, it didn’t seem to damage the floor.
Carriles tried not to think too much about how close it came to crushing him.
After a beat, Carriles looked up and saw another of the robed people—this one a man, in dark green—raise another rock. His voice was thicker, slower.
“We would love to take your words at face value,” the man said, nodding up at his hands. “But what have you or your people done to earn mercy? If anything, we have learned to not trust you based on your actions. How do we know that, by freeing your comrades, you won’t immediately turn on us?”
“We are a flawed, broken race,” Vicks said, stepping forward, sneaking a glance at Carriles as she spoke. He held his breath.
“We destroyed our home planet through our selfishness and inaction. We have lived to pay the price for our own excess and hubris. Some of us have learned. Many of us have not. We do not claim to be ready for membership, but we would like to at least claim survival. We are primitive and violent compared to you. Let us go back and work harder, so that when we do feel we are fit to return, we can do it with our heads held high.”
When she was finished, she folded her arms behind her back, resolute. Carriles fought the urge to pat her on the arm.
Not the time.
“You are Vicks,” the man said, tilting his head slightly. “You were allied with your captain, Delmar. Izaiah tells us you have betrayed him.”
“The ship has decided—”
“You betray a betrayer, no?” the man interjected. “You claim the worst of your kind are opportunistic and craven, yet you yourself turn the knife on your leader’s back. Am I wrong?”
Carriles had never seen Vicks stumble before—and it pained him to watch the woman, her sharp, feline features, suddenly frozen and stricken with fear. He had to do something.
“She was conflicted, as we all were,” Carriles said. “While our leaders are complex and often corrupt, we as a people believe in decorum and the chain of command. We still retain some confidence in the systems that govern us. Vicks was hesitant to make the choice, but she did, because it was the right thing to do.”
“You think this is enough to save humanity?” the Reosian leader asked.
The sound of the words traveled down to Carriles and Vicks slowly, like a feather—shifting back and forth, in no hurry to arrive. Carriles heard Izaiah gasp.
Carriles’s stomach dropped. His goal was to get their crew members and go home. What was this turning into?
Before he could respond, the Reosian leader said, “The topic of humanity has been resolved. We sent another to New Destiny, along with Izaiah, to confirm our beliefs about humanity. She has not been heard from. She is more than likely dead.”
Carriles wasn’t sure if he imagined or actually heard papers shuffling above. The rock was being held higher now.
“While I am open to the suggestion of preserving the lives of you and your crew based on the testimony of our agent, Izaiah, we are certainly not in the business of preserving humanity.”
“What do you mean?” Vicks asked, her tone harsh. Carriles winced.
“What I mean—what the Mutual means, Vicks—is clear,” the man said. “Our agent is dead at the hands of your people. This is an act of aggression that merits a response—not in kind, but with force. A response that will resonate beyond your solar system. A message that will last for eons.”
Carriles started to open his mouth, started to think of what he could do—anything—to prevent the man from speaking the words he knew were coming.
“That message is simple—some things cannot and will not be tolerated,” the man said. “And that message will be delivered now.”
He let the rock fall, and it slammed into the first rock before Carriles and Vicks, cracking its egg-like shape in two. The crack sounded across the wide, barren face of the stadium-like structure.
Carriles heard Vicks gasp behind him. He felt Izaiah’s hand on his shoulder, tight and comforting. He felt his voice catch in his throat.
Jose Carriles knew they’d lost.