People think of space as this great, vast emptiness, like the sky. But it’s not. Space is more like the ocean, the largest biome in existence made up of millions of unique and thriving ecosystems. Space is alive.
And it’s filled with dragons.
• • •
I roll my shoulders inside the spacesuit, trying to get its great weight to settle evenly as I wait in the Alanna’s airlock for the pressure to stabilize. Twenty years ago, I could spend all day in a spacesuit with no discomfort. Now, my back is already hurting, and I know I’ll be sore by tomorrow. Spacewalks are, apparently, the province of the young.
As though summoned by my thoughts, my comms crackle to life and an exuberant youthful voice says,
“Are you excited to see the space dragons?”
I turn to the airlock doors and see the face of Dr. Yani Perko, the only other crew member aboard the Alanna, pressed up against the airlock window, bright orange lipstick in danger of smearing over the glass.
“We don’t know they’re dragons yet,” I caution. “Our sensors could be picking up bioluminescent algae swathes again.”
Yani’s lips turn down in a frown. “Geraldine,” she says seriously, “I need you to be more excited about the space dragons.”
“I’ll be excited when I see them and have the data to confirm it,” I say. Yani clicks her tongue, clearly disappointed. Before she can scold me, a ping sounds from her tablet, and she looks down to examine it.
“What is it?” I ask. My mind flashes through the thousands of mission-critical problems that could be happening, that could ruin the best chance we’ve had for months. My stomach flops down to my feet when Yani mutters in Croatian. She only does that when she’s mad.
“It’s the Way Station.” Yani turns the tablet around to show me the official government seal blinking on our sensors. “They found us.”
• • •
When I was a child, my class went on a field trip to the Lunar Station. I was the only girl on the trip. The research proving space travel and habitation had no adverse effects on female prepubescent bodies was new, and many schools still didn’t have co-ed space programs available. But my parents signed a petition, and then a waiver, and I gained a spot to travel to the moon.
I was teased for it, sure. Geraldine Whitaker, the science geek. The other kids (and some of the parents) thought I was stupid to go up in the black. They said my delicate girl body would explode, disintegrate, drop dead without warning.
None of those things happened.
What happened was I fell in love. The Lunar Station was quite the sight. We were given tours of the hangars and common areas and a few of the labs, watched from the viewing room as another space transport docked, and played around in the zero-g gyms. I flew between exhibits and demonstrations, trying to see and experience everything. I wanted to be an astronaut going out on spacewalks, or an engineer keeping the station running, or a chemist experimenting in my own lab. This was what was missing from my life, I thought. Space was where I truly belonged.
I didn’t make the connection then that everyone working aboard the station was a man, didn’t realize that it’d be decades worth of fighting tooth and nail to work in space alongside them as an assistant, never mind a lead scientist.
And I didn’t realize that the difficult journey to space would be even harder for me. My fate was never to be on the station amongst the many brilliant men working there. Instead, I ended up finding my true calling in the mysterious depths of space during the return trip to Earth when I happened to glance out the window and see a dragon.
• • •
“What’s their ETA?” I ask, heart pounding in my ribcage.
“Hour and some change.”
“And the dragons?”
“Twelve minutes. Plenty of time to record data to rub in their faces when they get here.”
If there’s any data to record, I think, chewing my lip as I try to figure out the best course of action for this debacle.
Technically, we are not supposed to be in this part of space. The Alanna is a private vessel and, though fully permitted, we are trespassing on government-owned space. And while registration for private science missions is not strictly required, it is highly recommended. Especially when said science mission is using equipment rented from government facilities.
And after working for the government for forty-two years, I definitely knew all this going in. I just didn’t care. I should have, though.
I sigh. It is one thing for me to ignore the strict protocols of space travel and habitation in order to conduct an unsanctioned research trip. My career as an astronomer and xenobiologist is already down the toilet, through the sewers, and polluting the oceans. I have very little left to lose. But Yani …
Unlike me, Yani didn’t have to fight just to be allowed to apply to space programs. The degrees she earned did not have an asterisk next to them because they weren’t from special schools that permitted women. Yani did not have to struggle for years after graduating to get a position aboard a research vessel and earn her certifications. Unlike me, Yani still has a perfectly acceptable professional future.
But like me, Yani believes Draconis astronomus exists.
And here, now, that’s all that matters.
“Gerri?”
The airlock control panel beeps, fully depressurized. I turn and grasp the handles on the outer door.
“Mute their channel,” I order. “I’m going out.”
• • •
I stared down at my tablet, rereading the first page of my proposal sent to the System Astronomy Board’s Expeditions and Research department. It was a sketch of the dragon I had seen at the Lunar Station. Even forty years later, I still remembered the dragon in perfect detail.
It was tiny, or at least appeared so to me from that distance, and was so translucent it was almost invisible. Only the light from the transport’s thrusters enabled me to see the vague, shining outline of something alive and moving. But it was there. Wings, snout, tail — unmistakably dragon-shaped.
By the time I got the attention of my seat buddy and pointed out the window, it was gone. The boy scoffed at me. Dragons weren’t real, he said. I was seeing things. Space had addled my fragile girl brains. But I knew what I saw.
Draconis astronomus. Space dragon.
Except now my space dragon sketch had a giant watermark over it reading ‘rejected’ in blinking letters.
“They’re real,” I mumbled to myself. “I know they are.”
I heard a sigh and a hand came to rest on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
I turned around and looked into the face of my husband, Andreas.
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to tell me I’m right.” When he didn’t say anything, I pulled away from him. “You do think I’m right, don’t you?” I demanded.
“Of course!” he said quickly. “But —”
“There’s a but?”
“But,” he said, “maybe now is not the right time for your research. Maybe … maybe you’re too far ahead of your time.”
“Not the right time.” I laughed mirthlessly. “Why is it that when a woman wants to do something, it is never the right time, but when a man wants to do it, the timing is perfect?”
“Geraldine, do not make this into something it’s not,” Andreas said, frowning.
“When Carl Santos wanted to move civilians to the Lunar Station thirty years before they had even mastered artificial gravity, that was genius. But when Josephine Williamson petitions for women to be allowed to live full-time on perfectly functioning Way Stations, she’s too progressive.”
“We’re not talking about Santos or Williamson. We’re talking about you and your dragons!”
“Don’t you get it, Andreas? I am Josephine Williamson!”
Andreas wanted to roll his eyes, I could tell, but he didn’t. “Proving the existence of space dragons is going to spearhead the feminist movement in the sciences? Really?”
I smacked my tablet with the back of my hand. “I presented the first theory proposal without any prior research being done by any male scientists. Everything is backed by top women scientists in half a dozen fields. To approve my expedition and research mission would be to validate the work of every woman scientist in the system!”
Andreas smiled, shaking his head. He stuck his hands in his pockets, something I knew he only did when he thought he was done dealing with something.
“Every woman scientist in the system,” he repeated. “That’s a bit grand, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it is,” I said coldly. “That’s why this is so important.”
Andreas took his hands from his pockets, slapping them dramatically against his thighs. He sighed. “Why can’t you just take the win?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Geraldine, you’ve championed women’s rights in science and have paved the way for the next generation. Is it perfect yet? No. But maybe your work is done. Maybe it is time for you to let the next generation of women handle this fight. Be happy with what you have now instead of worrying about what you don’t have yet.”
I didn’t say anything for a good long while. Some things were not worth responding to.
Finally, “I’m not asking permission here,” I said.
“You were rejected.” Andreas nodded toward my tablet. I didn’t even bother to glance at it.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Government scientists can’t execute unsanctioned missions.”
“Then I’ll quit and go private.”
Andreas scoffed. “And without a job what money will you use to fund this millions of dollars project?”
“Savings. Fundraising. The retirement fund.”
“I’m not using my retirement fund for this!”
“Then I’ll use mine.”
“Then it’ll take you years.”
“I’m willing to put in the time.”
“Maybe I’m not.” Andreas’ face was carefully blank, and he wouldn’t meet my eye.
“Geraldine,” he said, “I miss you. You are always working. On planet, off planet, Way Stations. I never see you anymore, and … I’m tired of it. I’m not doing this anymore. Your work is important, I get that, and you know I am so proud of everything you’ve done. But what about our marriage, our lives? Which is more important? Us? Or some make-believe dragons?”
• • •
I’ll never get tired of being out in space. It’s a feeling both intimately familiar and totally foreign. It’s knowing you’re in the presence of something much greater, much more powerful than yourself, but still feeling welcome to it, a part of it as much as a grain of sand is a part of the beach but pales in comparison to the mighty waves crashing ashore.
I take a moment just to float in the stillness and look at the stars around me. I bask in their glow from millions of lightyears away, connected to other planets, other species, maybe other peoples, despite the distance.
“ETA on the Way Station transport is sixty-eight minutes.” Yani’s voice is tinny inside my helmet and jogs me out of my reverie. I begin to float along my tether, checking the half dozen mounted cameras and sensors we have placed there to record everything happening in greater detail than my own naked eye could observe.
“You should also know they’ve sent an official cease and desist order,” she says.
“Noted,” I respond. Then, “does that bother you?”
Yani’s face pops up on my HUD so she can blow a raspberry. I grant her a shaky laugh, but just in case I ask, “Are you sure?”
“Of course. What are they going to do? Fire me? I don’t work for them.”
“You might not ever work for them after this.”
Yani blows another, bigger raspberry and says something in Croatian. “Doesn’t matter. Dragons’ll be here in ten.” She lets out a squeal that sounds one hundred times louder in the confines of my helmet, but I almost return it.
In truth, I, too, am barely concerned about the authorities en route. Instead, I am shaking in my suit from excitement. A lifetime spent wondering, watching, waiting, and working. A thousand sacrifices big and small, and the hopes and dreams of a young girl on a school trip to the Lunar Station. All of it is potentially about to be vindicated for me, for Yani, for the entire space and scientific community.
I might be ten minutes away from changing the world.
Also, space dragons.
“First images coming in,” Yani says a few minutes later. My HUD fills with scattered shots of pinpricks of light clustered together.
“Definitely a herd,” I mutter.
“Moving at a steady pace, too,” says Yani. “Migration?”
“Possibly. Biometrics?”
“They’re definitely multi-celled organisms.”
“Close enough for an imprint match to the sighting from two years ago?”
“Analyzing now … ninety-five percent match! Gerri, it’s —”
“Visual confirmation?” I interrupt, floating along my tether to touch all my equipment. Everything is set already, and Yani will be operating the controls from inside should the need arise, but I feel a buzz start to flood my body, the almost instinctual urge to do something in the face of what if.
“First full image in three … two … one —” Yani breaks into a smattering of Croatian and wordless cheers. I stare at the picture up on my HUD. It’s small and slightly blurry, but I see it: wings, snout, tail.
“Yes! Oh, my gosh! Yes! Holy —” Yani heaves an enormous gasp. “The right! The right! Gerri, look to your right!”
I turn.
• • •
The woman was staring at me again. I tried to keep my attention focused on the tablet and the information there, but I could feel her eyes on me. The fingers on my left hand started to nervously wiggle, seeking to twist a ring that was no longer there. I cleared my throat and set down the tablet to stare back at the woman.
Her name was Dr. Yani Perko. She was young, maybe only in her early thirties, but was listed at the top of her field in both astrophysics and xenobiology. Such accomplishments would’ve been unheard for a woman her age only twenty years prior, and I felt both proud and extremely old. She would’ve been a perfect match for Project Alanna except she was still staring at me with lips that were spread wide in a smile that could only be described as on the attack.
“Your credentials are impressive, especially given the restrictions on international students at the time,” I said politely.
“My parents pulled some strings,” Dr. Perko answered. She gasped as though just remembering something. “I also won a few of my lab credits in a poker game with the dean. That was for my Masters in astrophysics.”
“Right.” I flip over the tablet. “Well, it has been a pleasure —”
“I’m hired,” Dr. Perko said, and she actually clapped her hands, applauding herself. I laughed reluctantly.
"Um, no, not quite," I said. "There are still some other logistics I need to handle, other candidates —”
“How many other candidates?”
Zero. “A fair few.”
Dr. Perko suddenly blew the biggest, loudest raspberry I’d ever seen from someone over the age of six. “No one is better than me. No one wants this more than me — excepting, of course, your illustrious personage.”
Illustrious personage. I sighed. “Look, Dr. Perko —”
“Call me Yani.”
“… Yani. You know this is a minimal pay position?”
“Yep.”
“And it won’t earn you credit for any credentials or grants?”
“I know.”
“And you and I will spend six months together on a small spaceship with very little contact with civilization?”
“I’m told I’m very friendly.”
“And you’re aware your lipstick is bright orange?”
Yani popped her lips. “Sunset Symphony. It’s my signature color.”
I threw up my hands. “What’s wrong with you! You’re a brilliant scientist. Surely you have dozens of offers from legitimate stations and labs for actual, credited, high-paying work. Why me? Do you know who I am? What being associated with me will mean?
“I’m a pariah in every government space agency,” I said, ticking off on my fingers. “I’m completely broke and will probably face some sort of lawsuit before this is over. And did I mention I’m divorced? Because Project Alanna is directly linked to my divorce. What could possibly make you want to work with me?”
In the face of my tirade, Yani merely pressed her palms together in a prayer pose. “May I borrow your tablet?” she asked, then without waiting for an answer, she reached across the desk to grab my tablet and started tapping away.
“What are you doing?” I asked. She turned the tablet back around to face me, showing several documents.
“That’s your rejected paper on Draconis astronomus. I pirated a copy offline, sorry. But this is my dissertation on it, backing your theories. My paper qualified for honors and publication but was denied because, as you’re aware, all sources and experiments regarding Draconis astronomus were researched by women before laws changed and they were granted full merits.” She smiled. “I was given the option of rewriting it with a new topic to earn those honors and have my work published, but I refused. That’s why I only have a Masters in xenobiology and not a PhD."
I blinked, impressed despite myself. “All this to say that you’re … what?” I asked. “As insane as I am?”
"As dedicated,” she countered. “Certainly, more dedicated than any other wannabe scientist that might apply for Alanna.” She leaned forward. “Look, some things are more important than jobs or grants or even money. I think Draconis astronomus is one of those things. There’s enough research out there to see their existence proved within the next few decades by whatever bored undergrad happens to dig up our work, slap a Y chromosome on it, and call it legit. But I think it’s only appropriate that the existence of friggin space dragons is proven by the two women in the System who actually believe in them and actually did the work.”
Yani slumped back in her chair, and popped her neon orange lips again.
The color was starting to grow on me.
• • •
Draconis astronomus.
I can see them now, dozens in all shapes, sizes, and colors. They are a fair distance away from the ship, some just specks of moving light to my eyes, but others …
Yani is screaming into the comms as one of the dragons approaches the Alanna.
Easily the size of the ship, the dragon moves languidly, its body — translucent just like the one I saw as a girl — gently undulating with the pump of its wings. As each wing pulls back, there is a flurry of shining mist between the dragon and whatever vacuum microbe it finds purchase against, creating an ethereal halo illuminated by the dragon’s own bioluminescence.
It’s beautiful.
I trail my eyes down its body, noting the hazy images of internal tissue and vessels and organs and —
Oh. I see the tiny outline of wings, snout, and tail nestled somewhere in the dragon’s belly and encased in a cylindrical halo. A baby. It’s pregnant. And even as a part of my mind is racing with thoughts and theories about reproductive systems and ovoviviparity and hot dragon sex, one idea remains at the forefront: She’s pregnant.
The dragon is female, and I suddenly find myself thinking of course she is as though I’ve known this dragon my whole life.
Maybe I have.
The dragon turns to me. I meet her eyes, and there is intelligence there, a primordial soul that for a moment touches mine, a brief encounter fifty years in the making that speaks of a history waiting to be discovered, a future made possible this very day.
Then she turns away, intent on her forward progress with the herd.
I watch Draconis astronomus pass us by until their glow dims into indistinguishable specks amongst the bright lights of space. Yani is chattering in my ear about data backups and publications and in their stupid, man faces. I know she is hard at work on the ship, and I should probably be helping her in some way, monitoring the equipment, preparing for the arrival of the government agents. But I don’t move. For I am no longer a scientist hard at work on her own vindication. I’m not a researcher or a mentor, nor a woman who spent her life in space or a girl entering the black for the very first time.
I am a grain of sand beneath a crashing wave in an ocean of stars.