I watch the stars beyond the viewport instead of sleeping. We’re in a binary system—the two suns locked in a protracted dance, one that will end in flash and fury a billion years after I’m dead.
When I lean back from the port there’s a smudge from my oily forehead. I carry my cup of ersatz coffee through to the mess hall, switch the cookstation on, and sit. I start awake when the machine beeps its completion—those unscheduled moments of stolen rest are all I can hope for.
I take the bowl of rehydrated egg-like protein to my quarters and sit on the floor. I spoon food into my mouth—cheesy taste of yeast flakes and salt held together by rubbery bits of I don’t even know. The egg-like protein was better on the Nova. I’m not sure why; it should be exactly the same.
Before I’ve finished eating, the twin stars fold away—Waren taking us into another wormhole. I put my bowl and cup to one side and lie on the cold polyrubber, staring at the ceiling.
After Homan Sphere, I can’t sleep in beds. In prison I slept on the floor, surrounded by the snoring and farting of the other inmates. Here it’s too quiet, the bed is too soft, the guilt is too sharp. The first time I tried the bed after we settled into the Rua, the mattress was suffocating. Fear gripped me every time I sank into it, heart pounding and sleep further off than ever.
Now when I try to sleep, I lie on the floor. I did the same thing when I was a kid because I felt like I didn’t deserve a bed, I didn’t deserve comfort. Don’t know how I fooled myself into thinking I did.
At least when I was a child I had nothing to feel guilty for, no reason for the self-loathing that kept me awake.
Even on the floor, I don’t really sleep, but I rest. Free from fear with the hard floor at my back, and Ocho curled up on the bed, her slitted eyes watching over me.
* * *
“We have arrived in-system.”
Waren’s voice comes through loud over the static hiss of falling water. I’m not sure how long I’ve been dozing in the shower, water filtered and recirculated, kept a steady temperature thanks to reactor heat. I could stay like this forever, pretend that there was nothing beyond the Rua’s bathroom, not even empty void.
“How does it look?” I ask, water sputtering from my lips.
“Quiet.”
“Good.”
I take my time getting out of the shower, drying off, and getting dressed. Walking from my quarters, I put my hair in a loose bun to keep it from soaking the back of my shirt.
When I reach the cockpit, Pale is in the pilot’s seat with Ocho curled up in his lap. Her eyes open slightly when I take the other chair, but she doesn’t move.
A sphere of green and indigo looms huge in the viewport; Waren ignored minimum safe distance laws to bring us in close. Illegal, sure, but what are they going to do—arrest us?
Gray-black clouds obscure a third of the surface. If there are oceans, I can’t see them, or any large bodies of water, just some gleaming white lines that carve through the land—either rivers or mountain peaks.
Sanderak. My father’s last-known location. My birthplace. I exhale; chest rattle, heart thud, sick churn in the pit of my stomach, worse than any g-force. I inhale deep and hold it, try to focus on slowing my heart, but it doesn’t work.
“What do we know, Waren?”
“Not a great deal; census data is fifteen years out of date.”
“Means they haven’t let an imperial ombudsman on the surface in all that time. Must value their privacy.”
“It could be dangerous,” Waren says, “dropping in uninvited.”
“Your concern is sweet, but I can handle whatever they throw at me.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. What if they damage the ship?” he asks, modulated voice high and innocent. “It’s mine once you’re done with your errands.”
“Asshole,” I say, but I’m smiling. Errands? If curing Pale’s seizures and getting answers to the questions I’ve carried since childhood are fucking errands then I’d hate to see an ordeal.
“One of the population centers from the census perfectly matches the coordinates for Marius Teo,” Waren says, drawing a small square dot on the viewport to mark the location. “I’ll bring us down.”
A choir of metallic vibrations floods the cockpit, and my ass rattles in the seat as the engine noise climbs. Slowly Sanderak grows larger, filling the viewport and stealing the void from sight.
We hit the atmosphere—constant roar as flames lick at the Rua, casting the cockpit in a dull orange glow. The seat turns violent beneath me; I fix my harness then check Pale is wearing his. Ocho leaps out of the boy’s lap onto mine, and I curse as she digs her claws into my flesh for purchase. She stands rigid with her back arched, mraowing low and long, barely audible beneath the din. I put a hand on her back to force her to sit, then hold onto her tight.
We keep dropping and the atmospheric burn dies. A billowing black cloud rolls fast across the stratosphere from starboard. It hits hard and the ship lists to port, pitched on the black tidal wave. Sirens blare deafening from the roof, warning lights across the dash flickering in nonsense Morse code. Not a cloud. Black flakes stick to the wide viewport then blow away—ash thick in the air, even this high up.
“Waren, this is bullshit,” I say through gritted teeth. He must silence the warning systems because the klaxon stops screeching and the lights flicker and die—cockpit dark, enveloped in the vast plume of ash.
“Sorry,” he says.
The Rua is deathly quiet with the engines idling, free-falling below the smoke. Once we’re clear, Waren blasts us forward. Rich greenery reaches toward the horizon, singed by wildfire. Beneath us, fire fronts scrawl brilliant lines of orange-gold across mountain and plain.
To the north, beyond the smoke, a black lake shimmers in sunlight. We drop again, gently this time. Waren’s waypoint grows larger, the square dot now a wide rectangle marking the outskirts of the unnamed city or town. I punch a quick series of commands into the dash, zooming in tight.
There’s nothing.
“Waren, can you scan that area?”
There’s a pause. “Scans don’t reveal anything of interest.”
“Damn it,” I say softly.
“It might not mean anything,” Waren says; “these scanners aren’t particularly sophisticated.”
“No scanner could miss an entire town.”
We come in low, flying just above the treetops. Sunshine cuts beneath the cover of cloud and smoke; the sun slowly setting, painting the sky a gradient of purples and opaque grays. Blue haze drifts from the forest, fields of dry brown grass between tall copses, but still no buildings, no settlement.
Continent-spanning forest fires and smoke-thick air. What if the population fled a dying planet? What if there’s no census data because no one lives here anymore?
“Still nothing on scans,” Waren says lightly. “Should we try one of the other population centers?”
“No; I want to look around. Something was here.”
Waren stalls the ship and the nose of the Rua lifts, offering a final glimpse of the pastel sky. There’s a distant thud when we land and the low whine of the engines shutting down. Huge eucalypt trees with black-dark trunks block the falling sun. Shadows stretch over us, wrapping around the ship—I shiver, blood cold in my veins.
I lift Ocho from my lap, using a finger to unstick her claws from the fabric of my clothes, and give her to Pale. “Stay here and mind her.”
Ocho leaps away from him the instant I let go, and Pale stands. He shakes his head grimly and grabs my hand.
“There might not be anything there,” I say; “you’ll be bored.”
“I’m coming,” he says in his whisper-soft voice.
“What about you?” I say to Ocho, staring up at me with her eyes wide. “Alright, fine.”
I open the locker on the rear wall of the cockpit and grab my rebreather and the child-sized one for Pale. There’s a special satchel for Ocho with filtration threaded into the fabric—I put it over my shoulder, but when I try to pick Ocho up she hisses. Someone’s getting stir-crazy. I get it though: she’s been stuck on ships and space stations for weeks now, maybe months, and no matter how big a station is, sometimes you need to feel some dirt beneath your feet. Paws. Same thing.
“Just try not to die, you jerk.” She rubs against my shin and then walks out of the cockpit toward the exit.
Pale and I follow her to the ship’s main air lock. I hit the door controls and the sour smell of sulphur drifts in.
“Fucking ‘errands,’” I mutter. I exhale sharply through my nose and shake my head, then fix the rebreather to my face.
Electric laughter fills the ship for a second, but I step outside and the door closes behind me, cutting Waren off mid-ha.