By Anne Lagamayo
She hasn’t been sleeping so well lately. At first it was because of administrative things, the booking, the catering, the reservations, the bureaucratic hoops to jump over—the way it always is on the first leg of organizing the cruise—and then after all that, the station at M2113 calling to say there was a gas leak, could they please hold the trip for one more week, and then Danny showing up in the middle of the night, holding the guest list, asking her if she was sure, really sure?
To which she’d replied, “Yes. You’re one of the best pilots out there, you can do this.”
She hasn’t closed her eyes for more than three hours, not since last night when the ship finally took off, so it’s no surprise that it takes a while before she regains consciousness and feels someone shaking her shoulder urgently.
“Ma’am Ina? Ma’am, there’s been an accident in one of the first class cabins,” someone is saying. The voice is thin and reedy, a little boyish, and hesitant.
She blinks at the dark disconcertedly and sits up, pushing off the comforter. The boy is shining his flashlight nervously, and brilliant displays of light are erupting in front of her eyes. “What kind of accident?”
He shifts from one foot to another. Gino, she thinks, is his name—one of the squatters they bought from Quiapo. She remembers him distinctly because of the smell of cheap gel in his hair as he stood in line, and the blue contact lens he was wearing on his right eye.
“Um, ma’am, I think you should see it for yourself, I—she’s on Sampaguita,” he replies.
She looks at the clock, wondering if she could get in some sleep before breakfast duty, and hides a sigh when she sees the time. “Thank you, Gino,” she says, and he starts a little at the sound of his name, “I’ll be there right away.”
***
The ship is even larger at night. She walks along the deserted hallways that seem to swallow her whole and tries to remember what the fear of too-wide spaces is called, idly wondering if anyone has known enough of wide spaces to fear it.
When she reaches the Sampaguita wing on the upper decks, she heads straight for the murmuring crowd gathered outside one of the doors, pushing her way through the throng until she reaches the guard posted at the cabin, who nods and lets her in.
The room, built for one, is tiny, and the blood is everywhere. Splattered in patterns on the wall, on the floor, soaking the thick mattress and the white cotton nightgown of the passenger seated on the edge of the bed. The doctor has his hand on the right side of her head while the other is holding a pair of forceps to the left. When she reaches them, she hears the doctor make a triumphant noise as he drops a bullet fragment on a waiting metal pan.
“She’s all yours, Miss Ina,” the doctor says, squeezing her arm as he ambles past. “I’m getting too old for this.”
“Thank you, doc,” Ina replies gratefully. She stops in front of the girl, who looks like she’s about nineteen or twenty. Her skin is already regaining its healthy tan color. Her own skin must seem old and dry and papery, as if it’s been forty for a longer time than it has.
“Hello,” Ina greets her, sitting beside her on the narrow bed. “I’m Ina, the cruise manager.”
She’d glanced at the cabin plans on the way out of her room—Hidalgo, it said, was the name of the occupant in 219, one of the rare guests who could afford a single cabin. She was expecting an old man in black satin pajamas hanging from the ceiling, but not the young thing already folding in on herself, clutching her forearms and rubbing them furiously.
“Do you need anything, Ms. Hidalgo?” She asks. She notices the gun hidden in the folds of the girl’s nightgown and moves to pick it up without startling her.
Ina turns to a small basin of water that the doctor had left by the carpet, and wrings the wet cloth inside. “It’s amazing isn’t it, all this space to move around in?” She dabs at the girl’s cheek, wiping away the dried blood. “Back home, my husband and I used to put up a curtain in between our sides of the room when we got tired of seeing each other.”
The girl blinks and swallows, turning to look at her for the first time. Ina waits for her to speak but she doesn’t, waits until the girl’s face is moist and clean and all that’s left is to wash the blood out from her hair.
“I’ll send housekeeping over to change the sheets,” Ina says. “I’m sorry, we don’t have a spare room.” She lingers a little before turning to leave. She reaches the door, and doesn’t know what makes her turn around and look at the Hidalgo girl again.
“I swallowed two bottles of Tylenol, the first time I tried to kill myself,” Ina says ruefully, leaning on the door jamb. “Don’t try it, it’s even messier than a gunshot.”
As she turns around to leave, the Hidalgo girl murmurs quietly, “Raquel. My name’s Raquel.”
Ina nods without looking back, twisting the knob. “Good night, ma’am. The sheets will be by soon.”
***
“On behalf of the captain and the crew of the Stellamorien, I’d like to wish you all a good morning!” Meg chirps before turning off the speaker.
“You’re in a good mood,” Ina observes with a small smile as she closes the cabin door behind her. She heads straight for the small buffet table by the corner and grabs a cup of coffee. She hasn’t had real brewed coffee in months, not since the last voyage. She’s delighted to find out that even the pandesal is real, nothing like the clay-like substitutes they have back home, and makes a mental note to stop by the kitchen and congratulate the caterers.
“Not at all,” the young stewardess replies, rubbing her eyes and sinking down bonelessly into one of the armchairs. “But you’re a little right, I think. It’s easier the second time.”
“I never said that.” Ina sips the steaming coffee—Barako, she thinks—and dunks the bread in the liquid. “I said it became more possible.”
“Isn’t that the same thing, boss?”
“Not at all, Meg. Coffee?”
“No, thanks, ma’am. Frances and I drank a whole jug earlier.” Meg flushes.
Ina starts to think that Meg really is as young as she looks like. Her résumé had said that she was twenty-three, though at first Ina couldn’t really be sure of her true age, and supposed it would be rude to ask.
“Anyway, I was assigned to the lower decks last night,” Meg continues, twisting the pearl button on her uniform sleeve. “There are thousands of them, aren’t there?”
Ina nods. “Yes. There are thousands of guests on the upper decks, too.” She drains the last of her coffee and gives Meg a small grin. “I should know, I get a thousand complaints every hour about someone’s dog ending up in someone else’s cabin.”
Meg shrugs good-naturedly. “I don’t envy you your job, ma’am.” She stands up and pulls down one of the plasma screens. “What do you feel like seeing today? Sunny day, overcast skies—”
“Not overcast skies, please. I want to live through lunch without my phone ringing off the hook.”
“Sunny day it is,” Meg says. By the time she pushes the screen back, sunlight is already streaming through the windows and the cabin is filled with the sounds of waves crashing and seagulls calling overhead.
Ina closes her eyes. She knows that if she looks outside, she will see the faint outlines of the archipelago in the distance. It’s always been her favorite weather design.
“Oh, ma’am?” Meg calls. “You told me to check who booked Ms. Hidalgo for the cruise? It was her grandson Michael.”
Without opening her eyes, she nods and starts tracing patterns on her mug. “Thank you, Meg.”
***
By the fourth day, she’s developed a migraine that threatens to make her keel over on the deck, so she weaves her way through the crowded pool and the hallways littered with children to the staff cabin. There are considerably less people and less noise, and she is even more grateful when she opens the door to the cockpit and is greeted by cold and darkness, a welcome respite from the near-blinding sun shining from the artificial windows.
Danny doesn’t look up from his papers. He is standing in front of the console, bent over pulled-up images of maps and graphs. The only light comes from the multitude of blinking buttons on the control panel and the constellations of stars speeding by in plain view from the large glass panel in front of them.
“Have you decided on a stopover yet?” Ina asks, lightly gripping the backs of one of the chairs.
Danny makes no move to acknowledge her question. After a moment of prolonged silence, he tosses his stylus on the table and runs a hand across his face. The first telltale signs of stubble are running along his chin and cheeks. “No, obviously. I know you think I can do this, but I think you’re nuts.”
When he doesn’t continue, she replies, “Okay. That’s alright. Show me what you have so far.”
He wordlessly drags a map out on the screen. She comes closer until she’s standing shoulder to shoulder with him, and peers at the image.
“There,” she says, pointing. “Good oxygen levels. Sustained plant life. And nearly half the planet is covered in water. The beaches would be gorgeous.”
Danny shakes his head, zooming in on the stats. “We can’t. It’s US territory. Nearly everything I’ve come across is US territory. We really shouldn’t have signed over the Andromeda XI.”
“Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she murmured.
He looks at her, his mouth turned upwards. “I can’t believe we’re actually looking for a marketable vacation spot. And I still don’t know why you chose me for this,” he says, sobering. “I understand why the last captain quit. What I don’t know is why you keep subjecting yourself to this.”
She gives a half-shrug, randomly tapping and enlarging galaxy maps onscreen. Danny, if she remembers correctly, was four years younger when they first met. He has wrinkles around his eyes now, and some grey in his hair. He could be thirty-eight, or maybe forty.
“Were you a freshman back when we met in that political science org?” She frowns.
“In college, way, way back then?” He grins. “Yeah. I remember you as a senior.”
“I remembered you having the stomach for ethical dilemmas,” she replies.
“No. You’d notice I actually ended up as a pilot instead of a politician. And it’s funny,” he adds, “I wouldn’t have said the same thing about you.”
She turns to him and smooths out the wrinkles on his uniform, patting his shoulders. “And as to why I keep subjecting myself to this, I like seeing their faces when they get on the cruise for the first time. As if they have all the space in the world.” She finally looks up at him and gives him a smile he doesn’t return.
She drops her arms from his shoulders. “And it’s my job. I’m obligated to do it. Page me when you find anything,” she says, walking out of the room and leaving him in the dark.
***
Ina pays a visit to the lower decks the next day in search of the doctor. Her insomnia has gotten worse lately—she had two hours of sleep last night, and a few stolen naps in the staff room—and she hopes the doctor has brought sleeping pills with him.
It is in the middle of afternoon and the weather design has the skies in bursts of orange and red and the water in calm, lulling waves. Nearly all the passengers are out in the hallway, lazing on the floor or leaning on the windows. It’s a tight squeeze but nobody seems to mind. Things are much worse back home, after all. Ina has a distinct memory of being stuck in the office once during a thunderstorm. She’d had to sleep on her work table with David from accounting, who’d eaten a burrito for dinner. The food was synthetic but the smell of his breath was real, and she stayed awake all night with the smell of bell peppers and onions puffed across her face.
After she flashes an apologetic grin at sidestepping a sleeping toddler stretched out on a blanket, she comes across the doctor speaking quietly to a thin, pale girl.
“Seasickness,” the doctor informs Ina, chuckling when the girl runs off. “I tell her the water’s not real, and there’s no actual motion, but the body believes what it believes.” He pats her hand genially. “What can I do for you, Miss Ina?”
She smiles sheepishly. “I haven’t been sleeping so well, doctor. If you could spare some sleeping pills, it would really help.”
“Yes, yes, I have just the thing.” He rummages into his bag, his beard catching on the handles. “By the way, I spoke to the girl in 219, Raquel, I think. She’s doing much better and has no plans of blasting her head off anytime soon. I confiscated the gun to be sure. Though God knows we’ve all hoped to get the hell out of this life at one point or another.”
Ina raises an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t see the perks of eternal life?”
“Not when I have to share it with fifteen billion other people who play god.” He pulls out a small vial of tiny white pills. “And I know you don’t, either.”
She makes a noncommittal noise as she takes the medicine. “Thank you, doctor. I guess it depends on how you live the rest of it out.”
“And where,” he adds, grunting as he shoulders the bag, and waves her away when she tries to help him with it. “And you should know,” he says over his shoulder, “starvation is the most painful way not to die.”
Ina shakes the bottle, listening to the contents rattle inside before she pops the cap and dry swallows two pills.
***
The door to her office flies open and Danny is standing in front of her, holding out a tablet.
“I found it,” he announces triumphantly, “I found the perfect planet.”
She puts down her pen. “Really? That’s fantastic.”
He continues, dangling the tablet in front of her excitedly. “Stable oxygen levels, plant life and all that, and get this, it has pink skies—”
“Thank you,” she interrupts him and smiles. “That’s great news. Give it over to Frances, she should announce the stopover to the guests soon. And tell them what to pack. The last time, my passengers got off on a tropical planet with three layers on.”
Danny frowns at her for a moment. “Seriously?”
“Yes, it must’ve been a nightmare down there.”
“I meant you don’t want to hear—” He stops and shakes his head. “Forget it. Okay, I’ll let her know.” Danny’s voice is an echo when he walks out the door. “We’ll be there in two days.”
***
It’s on the ninth day that they throw the dinner party. The food is incredible—she’s always had a sweet tooth that she could never satisfy back home, and tonight the buffet tables are teeming with fruit tarts and all kinds of cheesecakes, and a chocolate fountain in the middle of it all. It is crowded in the ballroom, and they’ve had to make do with cramming Monobloc tables and chairs beside the hardwood. For the first time, none of her guests—especially her upper-deck guests—seem to mind, and she supposes it has something to do with the rare champagne going around. She goes from table to table, smiling and speaking with the guests, and thinks she sees the Hidalgo girl in a blue dress in a corner of the room once.
Finally when she has enough of the laughter and the noise, and the children racing across the narrow spaces between chairs, she heads to the buffet table only to find the dessert trays empty. She stands there in front of the table for a few minutes before she sighs and turns around.
“Ma’am Ina?” Gino is standing in front of her, still looking slightly uncomfortable in his tuxedo shirt. He holds out a small plate with an unsteady smile. “I—uh—I kept this for you, earlier. Meg tells me you love cake—”
A slow grin slowly spreads on Ina’s face as she takes in the selection of small tarts. “You’re a lifesaver, Gino. Thank you.”
Gino flushes delightedly and hands her the plate. “Sure, ma’am.”
With cakes in one hand and a flute of champagne in another, she steals across the room and leaves Danny with the guests. She finds a quiet place at the roof deck and leans across the railway, resting her forehead against the glass. Meg has opted out of weather designs for the night and the windows are alight with stars.
“Excuse me, Miss Ina?”
Ina startles and straightens, nearly dropping her champagne. “Miss Hidalgo. Hello. Is there a problem?”
The Hidalgo girl is standing a few feet away from her, sure enough in a blue dress, her hands folded neatly behind her. “No, no problem.” She hesitates, then, “May I join you?”
“Of course,” Ina replies. She finds little of the girl from the first night in her now; her hair is pulled back neatly, and Ina sees traces of rouge on her cheeks.
The Hidalgo girl quirks a smile when she notices Ina’s scrutiny. “I’m alright, I promise. I won’t open the airlock and flush myself away.”
“That’s good to know,” Ina smiles back.
“I just want to thank you for the first night,” the girl explains, “and congratulate you on this whole thing.” She gestures around her. “This cruise is amazing. I’m glad my grandson booked me on this. I was afraid for a moment that we were getting too crowded in the house.”
“New baby?” Ina asks casually.
“Yes,” the girl replies, tucking a stray strand of her hair back in place. “There was a time when I wondered if I would ever even know my grandson. Now there’s too much time, isn’t there?”
“And not enough space,” Ina agrees, and drains her champagne. “I should get back—” she starts to say, at the same time the Hidalgo girl says, “I thought at first they wanted to get rid—”
The girl stops first, looking alarmed. “Oh sorry, I talk too much, don’t I? Please stay, I’m sure you really don’t want to go back to those crowds. I’ll shut up now.”
Ina smiles again, pleasantly, and tugs at her suit jacket. “Of course.” There is a moment of awkward silence, before Ina clears her throat. “So what do you do?”
“Nothing important, really,” she replies. “We used to smuggle sugar—real sugar—from the provinces and sell it in the city. But the plantation closed a few months ago.” She leans on the rails and drums a pattern on the glass. “I would love a job like this. I didn’t even know we could afford these luxury cruises. Is this your first voyage?”
Ina laughs lightly. “Yes, it’s our maiden voyage. I don’t remember how I landed this job, actually. But it isn’t much. The government needed someone to do it, and I was available. And organizing this cruise isn’t as easy as you think.”
“It’s fantastic. And it’s probably as expensive as I think.”
“Not so much.”
“Is that why everyone can afford it?” The Hidalgo girl asks curiously. “I—I have to admit, I’m intrigued as to how so many of the lower decks could pay their way.”
“We could never fill the ship,” Ina says. “So the population department sponsors a few barangays to join us.”
“That’s good,” the girl nods. “This is good for everyone, I think. A little space is always good. I heard our first stopover tomorrow has pink skies.” She laughs, turning to face Ina. “I mean, have you ever seen pink skies before? Will you join us tomorrow?”
“One of these days, I think I will,” Ina replies, finding her glass empty when she tilts it to her lips again. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the planet.” When she doesn’t continue, they lapse into silence.
“I shouldn’t keep you,” the Hidalgo girl says at last, pushing herself off from the rail. “I just wanted to thank you. For the first night.”
Ina nods. “Of course.” The Hidalgo girl nods back, and Ina suddenly continues, “My husband and I took the pills, and he died and I didn’t. Sometimes it’s just a matter of luck.”
The girl looks taken aback for a moment before she throws her head back and laughs out loud. The sound, Ina thinks, is refreshing, and she finds herself smiling.
“You’re the first one who’s told me that,” the girl says. “But I’m sorry about your husband, if only for your sake. And thank you,” she adds, “again.”
When her footsteps fade away, Ina turns back to the window.
***
Early the next day she and the whole staff are out on the decks, in a single straight line, smiling at the guests as they shuffle to the shuttles. Most of them clap Danny on the back and shake her hand, chattering loudly amongst themselves. It’s not as chaotic as she expected, and by lunch nearly all the passengers have boarded.
“On behalf of the crew, we’d like to wish you a great day at the Astrid! Dinner will be served in the ballroom later tonight,” Meg announces cheerfully.
Ina smiles, nodding at them, until a familiar face among the crowds catches her eye. “Gino!” she calls sharply.
Beside her, Meg falters from her sunny speech, and the rest of the stewards turn to look. Gino is in a loud neon shirt and bermuda shorts, talking to a girl beside him. At the sound of her voice, he freezes and turns to her. “Ma’am?”
“Where are you going?” Ina asks, oblivious to the guests stopping to crane their heads at the scene.
“I—I’m sorry, Jenny traded shifts with me today, so I’ll be escorting the guests. I thought—” he stumbles. “I thought it’d be okay. I didn’t know we had to clear it with you, ma’am.”
“I see,” Ina replies after a beat. “No, it’s alright.”
“Okay,” Gino says hesitantly. “Um, see you later tonight. I’m sorry.” He hurries along and tries to blend in the throng pushing in to get inside.
“You scared him,” Danny says from beside her. She doesn’t reply.
The Hidalgo girl is one of the last to board, in a yellow sundress with a pair of pink shades on her head. She winks at Ina and grins at her broadly before stepping in. After the last guest disappears behind the threshold they wait until one of the bellboys comes in running from the upper decks.
“That’s everyone,” he calls out, panting, and waves at one of the stewards to close the heavy doors of the shuttle.
Danny speaks into his phone, looking at her steadily. “You’re clear to go.”
“Wait, I think—” Ina interrupts. She thinks she sees the silhouette of a yellow sundress from one of the windows, but she may be wrong. She turns to see her crew staring at her, and Meg starts to twist the buttons on her sleeves. The doctor, she notices, is absent.
“Clear them,” Ina finally says.
After the shuttle takes off, she nods at her crew and dismisses them with a wave of her hand to her empty ship. Danny stands beside her, his shoulder brushing hers.
“They won’t starve, will they?” She asks him as the shuttle grows smaller and smaller in the distance. She feels the ship hum below her feet and the gentle tug as they begin to pull away.
“Not for a while,” Danny answers. “I hope not ever.”
She nods, crossing her arms. “Tell me about this planet,” she says, and he tells her.