My triumph evaporates. I grab the closest handhold. “What’s happening?”
“Tractor beam.”
The pod shudders harder, the metal shrieking, and the ration bar I nibbled on earlier falls to the floor.
“Can’t you do anything?”
“Negative.”
A dozen warning lights flash on.
I press the comms button. “Stop with the tractor beam! My pod won’t take it.” Nothing but static. The base looks even more dilapidated the closer we draw near it. Is it abandoned? The tractor beam could be an automatic setting. But then what did my heart react to? I keep my face pressed to the glass. We’re getting closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Spark barks frantically. Great. We’re going to die while being rescued. I clench my eyes shut.
When I’m sure we’re going to implode, the pod goes motionless, and the noise ceases. Except for Spark, who continues to yip. I open my eyes cautiously. There’s a red glow through the window. Are we inside the base?
I glare at Spark. “Shush.” She whimpers, turns in a circle and flops down to rest her pointed chin on her paws. I undo my harness. “Tegan, what’s the atmosphere like?”
“Full suit recommended, though Spark will be unaffected. It appears the lower deck of the base is safe, but the upper levels have a sulfur reading of—”
“Enough already.” I jam my helmet on, and a whoosh of recycled air greets me, reeking of rubber and artificial twilberry. Lovely. “What about life forms? A simple yes or no will do.”
“Yes. One. Male. Sentient. Though…strange.”
“What?”
“I can’t get a reading on species, but he is bipedal.”
“And hopefully friendly.” I’ve met others from different species and cultures, but never on my own. What if he’s hostile? Whoever tractor-beamed me into the base could easily blow me up, flood the hangar with radiation if he wants to salvage the pod for parts, or gas me if he wants to keep me alive to sell me to space pirates. But if that’s going to happen, I’d rather be out in the open than trapped in my pod.
I tighten the sheath of the blade strapped to my thigh. Made from a sliver of freshum crystal, the knife will slice through anything. Dad had fashioned it for me, setting my birthstone—a fiery-red star opal—in the hilt. He said it matched my hair. And my temper.
I unlatch the kennel door. Spark leaps to the floor and stretches. Okay. Courage.
“Let’s go find this solitary male of unknown origin, shall we?” I throw back my shoulders and step down the ramp, hand on my knife hilt.
Typical hangar. Loading equipment. Metal shipping boxes stacked against the wall. But everything is in a serious state of disrepair.
“Are you sure someone’s here?” I tilt back my head and catch my breath. The base’s clear dome stretches over me. Thousands of stars shine, their brilliance cold and distant, but the planet dominates the view. A storm, lurid yellow with vomitous pink edges, broods in a clockwise oval on its surface. I shiver.
Tegan’s holograph flickers from my wristband. “Miss Astrid.” He folds his arms over his chest. “I’m never mistaken.”
A voice crackles through a speaker dangling by a frayed wire. “Welcome.” Young but definitely masculine.
“Thank you.” I scan the hangar for a video feed. “Where am I? And who are you?”
“You’re on Zephyr Moon Base.”
“Well, you almost destroyed my pod with your tractor beam.”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t had a lot of practice recently.” Odd comment, but at least he sounds apologetic. “It was already damaged and wouldn’t have been able to land on its own. But I can help you fix it.”
I soften my tone. “That would be…nice. And you are…?”
“I can’t be there to greet you personally, but Glenda”—a bronze teardrop-shaped hover drone swoops into the hanger—“will escort you to the accommodation level. You can wash up then we’ll have a meal together.” Glenda chortles, her single mechanical eye focused on me. She spins around, scoots away a meter, and chirps again. I don’t move. As heavenly as getting clean sounds, other priorities press at me.
“I’m actually lost, whoever you are.” I turn in a circle, my head tilted up as I address my invisible host. Why won’t he tell me his name? “My family’s cruiser exploded, and my comms aren’t strong enough to reach Satler Station, our rendezvous point. Do you have any way I could contact them?” I stifle the thought suggesting my family might not be there at all.
His reply is prompt. “Of course. I can show you how when you get here.”
If he can reach Satler Station, then why in all the suns didn’t he contact me in my pod with his comms in the first place instead of throwing on the tractor beam? He could’ve killed me! But before I can ask, my heartbeat slows down once more, and the certainty that I’m safe permeates through me. How do I know this?
I give Tegan a questioning glance. “What do you think?”
He shrugs. “At seventy-three-point-nine percent, your odds of survival are now phenomenally better —”
“Shut. Up.” I swipe at my wristband, and his hologram disappears. Getting snippy with Tegan isn’t helping anything. I take a deep breath. Spark’s feathery tail fans out into her relaxed pose. Call me crazy, but I trust her instincts more than Tegan’s scientific facts.
Glenda offers another encouraging beep, so I follow her sleek shape through the hangar and down a long narrow hall. Spark trots at my heels, her claws clicking against the floor. The lighting is dim, the walls scuffed. Every time we turn a corner, I expect to be someplace I recognize. It’s almost like I’ve been here before. But that’s impossible, right?
We finally take an ancient, rickety lift down an indeterminate amount of levels. I cling to the handrail. How’s my rescuer going to help me repair the pod if the base is this run-down?
The lift doors slide open. I blink and enter a pristine reception room of blinding white surfaces, gleaming glass, and shiny chrome. In the middle stands a figure several centimeters taller than me wearing an olive green environmental suit.
He steps forward, his helmet’s reflective faceplate casting a glare. “Hello. I’m Milos.”
The Boy
“AND I’M ASTRID.” The girl shakes my hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Milos.”
A diminutive spotted creature the size of my boot paws at my ankles. It sniffs me then dashes off and explores the room.
“That’s Spark. Don’t worry, she’s housebroken.” Astrid checks her wristband. “Any reason you’ve got your helmet on? My sensors say the atmosphere’s fine.”
“Oh, it is. I…well…long story. I’ve got to keep it on.” I shrug. “Spaceburn. It’s still healing.” The lie comes glibly enough, but I tense, anticipating a barrage of questions.
Her low chuckle makes me relax. “I feel sorry for you. I can’t stand these things. The air always tastes stale, no matter what it’s flavored with.” Her helmet hisses as she unfastens it. She pulls it off, along with her gloves. “Tegan will probably kill me, but I don’t care.” She scrubs at her head with long, thin fingers.
“Who’s Tegan?” I stare at her short, red curls. In my dreams, her hair wasn’t this…vivid. But she’s even prettier in real life, with a heart-shaped face and brilliant green eyes. Freckles pepper her cheeks, and tiny silver hoop earrings march up her left ear. She has to be the one. Would she have heard my heart otherwise?
“Nobody.” She blushes a delicate shade of pink. “I mean, only the AI. I’d introduce you, but he’s probably sulking.”
I grin. “You named your AI? Thought I was the only one who did things like that.”
Her laughter startles me. After nothing but Glenda and the other drones’ electronic babble for the last five hundred years, Astrid’s presence refreshes me like a spring bubbling up through parched ground.
“It started with Henrik, my little brother. He called the previous GenCorp model ‘Frida’ because her serial number
was FRD5000. Then we updated to the TGN8000 and, voilà, Tegan was born. Dad’s particularly proud of coming up with that.” Her smile fades. Is she thinking about her family? At least I can help with that.
I clear my throat. “So. Comms first?”
“Please.”
I tap a pattern in the air. “Satler Station standing by.”
Astrid doesn’t seem the hand-wringing type, but she clasps them in front of her chest, lacing and unlacing her fingers. “Astrid Jakob here. From the CSS Psyche. I’m looking for Nils or Hilde Jakob. Or Henrik. Over.”
“Greetings,” a crisp voice answers. “Putting you through now.”
“Astrid!” a woman says breathlessly.
Astrid claps her hands to her mouth, her eyes moist. “Mom! You’re there. You answered.”
“Oh, my darling girl. Your father almost lost hope when you didn’t arrive, but I knew you were safe. I knew.”
“Dad’s with you? And Henrik?”
“Yes, yes, we’re all fine.”
Astrid’s grin could light up the galaxy. “Best news ever.”
“Where are you?” her mom asks.
She glances at me. “Zephyr Moon Base.”
“Never heard of it. How far is it from Satler Station?”
“Don’t know. We’re orbiting a planet called DS 98…something. My pod was damaged. But someone’s here who will help me repair it.”
Her mom’s reply is sharp. “Who’s with you?”
I back away. “I’ll give you some privacy.” I stride to the far side of the reception room and stretch out on a chaise lounge. It molds to fit my long body. Pretending to fiddle with Glenda’s controls gives me something to do. But I can’t close my mind to the conversation flying between Astrid and her mom, boosted as it is by my own powers.
Astrid faces the wall, speaking quietly. “His name is Milos. He lives here.”
“Is he part of the Coalition?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he a pirate? The Linnel Quadrant is full of pirates.”
Spark bounds onto my chest and presses her nose against my faceplate. I mock growl at her. She bares wicked-looking fangs and growls back. Oops.
Astrid’s mom sighs. “I knew your father never should’ve agreed—”
“Mom. I’ll be fine. We’ll fix the pod, and I’ll be on my way.”
Even though I’ve just met her, my shoulders slump. Is there anything I can say to convince her to help me first? Maybe I could draw out the repairs. Or tell her I won’t let her leave until she does this one little thing.
“…seems nice.” She looks over her shoulder at me. I focus on Spark gnawing on my little finger, her tail spread out like a trishbird’s feathers. “And like I said, not a pirate.”
Who am I kidding? It’s not one little thing. If I want her to agree, I can’t trick her. Or threaten her. I’ll have to tell her everything. And quickly. I glance at her again. My time’s almost up.
“Okay.” Astrid nods. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Astrid faces me. “Mom found our location, and they’ll be here in four cycles.”
My throat closes. That leaves me next to no time. “Great news.” I wave my hand, Spark dangling from my thumb. Astrid giggles, and Spark drops to the floor. “So, what would you like to do now? Eat? Freshen up?”
“I’m actually starving. I haven’t had anything but ration bars for twenty cycles, and as tasty as they are, I feel like I never want to even look at one again. Though”—she sniffs at her suit’s high neckline—“I could really use a change of clothing. I’ve got a spare suit in my pod.”
“No worries.” I point to the wall to my left. A door opens. “This can be your room. Everything you need is in there. Bathtub. Soap. Extra clothes. Everything.”
Her eyes widen. “Bathtub? As in filled with water?”
“No.” I backtrack rapidly, adjusting the size of the tub. “Hydro-gel. And it’s more like a footbath.”
“Too bad.” She sidles to the doorway and runs her hand up and down the opening. “Where’d the door go? I can’t even see a seam.”
I’ve gotta watch my step, or I’m going to blow my one opportunity. From the way she’s narrowed her eyes, she’s already on guard. No more mistakes.
I breathe out slowly. “Wild, huh? Whoever built this place did an amazing job.”
“O-kay.” She gives me a piercing stare, then goes inside the room and whistles. Spark dashes after her.
“There’s a lock—”
The door slides shut. The lock clicks into place.
I groan. I pictured this going so differently. She’d show up, recognize our obvious connection—maybe even admit she dreamed about me, too—and lift the curse. Now her family’s on their way, and I haven’t even told her why she’s here.
The tap inside her ablution room turns on, and she starts humming. I bolt upright. Food! She’s hungry. What would she like to eat? And what could I produce that wouldn’t raise her suspicions any further?
Hydroponic vegetables? They’d be available on a moon base.
The meal is ready when she comes back into the reception room, wearing form-fitting trousers and a loose blouse with her hair all damp and tousled. “The clothing fits perfectly. Thank you.”
“Have a seat.” I point to the table set with a salad, a hearty legume stew, and reconstituted bread.
“This looks delicious.” She plops down on a chair. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Huh? What? Oh.” Sitting across from her, I thump on my faceplate. “I’ve got an assortment of nutritious protein shakes available.”
Even her grimace is attractive. “Ugh. Spaceburn is the worst. How much longer before your skin heals?” She takes a huge bite of salad and offers Spark a yaf bean.
“Five cycles, max.”
“That long? I’ll be gone before then.” Is she disappointed? Does she wonder what I look like?
She continues to chatter, telling me about her family, their travels, and how happy she’ll be to reunite with them. I refill her bowl twice. The second time, my hand bumps hers, and a tingle, like an electrical current, jumps between us. She stares at me, her teeth sunk into a slice of bread.
“Sorry.” I jerk my hand back, spilling the stew. “The static electricity is pretty bad here.”
Astrid cocks her head, her eyes quizzical. “Really? Nothing else going on?”
I hang my head. Why? This is the opportunity I’ve waited for. But now that the moment’s here, the words won’t come. Any explanation I make will sound unbelievable. Or make her run away screaming. How can I say that I’ve seen her face a million times? That she’s my savior, and maybe even my soulmate.
Tell her.
Tell her.
I can’t. She has to get to know me more. Needs a reason to want to help.
I look up. “You’ve been through a lot in the last few cycles. It’s normal to feel unsettled.”
The Moon
I STARE AT Milos, my face reflected in his helmet. Really? He blames stress for my current state? No way. Something else is happening to me. To us. Some link I can’t explain. I tap my fingers against the glass tabletop. Ever since I got here—no, before I even arrived—I’ve felt like I know this place, know him. And the sensations going through me. Like even though I’m safe, I’m poised at the edge of a chasm, and I’ve got to jump off. Am I delusional?
I open my mouth then close it. How can I press the issue without sounding crazy? Milos is helping me. And my family will be here soon. Surely I can hold out for four cycles.
Weariness overtakes me, and I push away my bowl. “I think I need to lie down.”
Milos jumps up. “Of course.”
The door to my room slides open, and Spark follows me inside. Trembling, I lock the door and collapse onto the mattress in the sleeping cubicle. Spark jumps up next to me as I push a button. The stasis shield lowers into place and cocoons us.
Though my body’s exhau
sted, my mind continues to spin.
I’m accustomed to judging people and situations in an instant. Dad always says my intuition is excellent. But the déjà vu. My assurance of Milos’s character. Even the way I seem to know intuitively where everything is in my room. It goes beyond my normal insight. Almost like I’m bewitched.
I snort. If I believed in stuff like that.
“Four cycles.” I rub my eyes. That’s all I have to wait. Mom and Dad and Henrik will be here, and I’ll leave. Whatever is going on will stop.
I drift into a fitful sleep, dreaming about the storm on the planet’s surface that I watched through the dome covering the moon base. I swim through it, my arms pushing against viscous waves. A woman’s hand, blood-red fingernails curled like talons, reaches for me. Grabs my arm, digs into my flesh—
I wake with a start—bumping my head on the stasis shield as I grab for the knife still sheathed at my thigh—and find my room lightened for ‘morning.’ The shield lifts.
Yawning, I dress then pad into the reception room. The table is spread with fresh fruit, pastries, and a selection of teas. Milos must have prepared breakfast. But he isn’t here.
I clear my throat. “Tegan?”
His hologram appears. “How may I serve you?” Still snippy.
“Where’s Milos?”
“Hangar bay. Repairing the pod.”
I blink. Doesn’t Milos understand my family is coming to get me?
Fragrant, yeasty steam wafts up from the pastries. My stomach growls. Might as well eat and then join him. Anything we fix while waiting for my family will mean one less hassle for Dad and me. And maybe I can get Milos to talk about himself. Like why he’s the only one here, among other things.
I grab a pastry dripping with icing and take a tentative bite. Not bad for something reconstituted. And how did Milos get leepfruit to grow hydroponically? I pop a few purple spheres in my mouth, and their juicy tartness bursts against my tongue.
A door opposite my room opens, and Glenda glides out. Licking the icing from my fingers, I catch a glimpse of an unmade bed—the silver coverlet strewn on the floor—and the stasis shield in the lifted position. Must be Milos’s room. Does he take his helmet off while sleeping? He’d have to. It wouldn’t fit under the shield.
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