The Disasters

by M. K. England

  Again.

  I am actually kind of sorry for that.

  They recorded a message for me on my old tab before they sent it up, though I haven’t watched it yet. I don’t really know what to expect. Never contact us again? You never should have left? Why are you such a screwup? Don’t forget to wash your underwear?

  I flop onto the bed and throw an arm over my eyes, the tab on the table beside me silently judgmental.

  It can wait. I need a nap.

  Or not.

  A knock comes on my open door. I crack one eye open to see Malik standing there, arms folded, leaning in the doorway.

  “Have you watched it yet?” he asks.

  I fight down the automatic wave of annoyance at his nagging. I’m trying to be better about that. Trying to make things better between us.

  “No.” I hesitate, then opt for honesty. “I’m afraid they hate me.”

  Malik chuckles. “I got a message from them this morning. They definitely don’t hate you.” He uncrosses his arms and backs into the hallway. “Watch the video, then Brenn wants to meet you all in the mess hall. Five minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He closes the door behind him, and I’m grateful for the privacy. Guess I have to get this over with.

  My old tab is cool and familiar in my hands as I tap the message to open it. The video loads up right away, with a view of my parents sitting in their dining room, the refrigerator and door to the spice kitchen behind them. They look at each other for a moment, a silent conversation passing between them, then they face the camera.

  “Hello, Nax,” my ammi says, her voice solid and confident, but with an edge of sweetness that I’ve always associated with her. I’ve been hearing that voice in my head all week, every time I touched the ships’ controls, reminding me of our piloting lessons. Hearing it for real is . . . nice. In her typical way, she launches right into things, direct and honest. “First of all, erase every awful thing you think we’re about to say from your brain. You should really know us better than that by now.”

  My dad clears his throat, a faint blush staining his fair cheeks. He always did get embarrassed at emotional discussions. “We know that part of why you left home was because you felt like you made trouble for us. And I know by the end we weren’t all on the best of terms. I won’t lie, son, it wasn’t always easy, and there were times where I wanted to punch your uncle Ronnie in the face for the things he said—”

  Ammi elbows him sharply in the side, and he coughs, grins weakly. “But now that you’ve stopped a galactic terrorist attack, he can eat it, so thanks for that.”

  “We just wanted you to have a stable career of some sort, but I suppose all of this . . . heroic stuff will do,” Ammi adds with a vague hand wave.

  My dad starts to make a terrible lawyer joke to defuse the mushy feelings, but he’s silenced by an all-too-familiar look from my mother, the look that melts criminals and cracks witnesses. I feel a rush of affection for them, the familiarity of their banter. The desperation to escape to the Academy and leave my childhood home in the dust feels so far away now. It was what I needed, and I still think it was the right decision, but I can’t help missing them now. I wish we had left it on better terms, though, wish I’d been kinder to them in those last few minutes. Or at least that I’d hugged them or something, instead of storming off in silence.

  “Well,” my dad continues, “at least you’re doing better than Uncle Ronnie’s son. That child is a train wreck waiting to happen, let me tell you. But the point is, we’re sorry if we ever made you feel unwelcome. And we’re proud of you.”

  “And we’re so glad you and Malik have finally worked things out,” my ammi says, wiping her eyes. “I always hated that the accident drove such a wedge between you two, especially right before he left home. You always looked up to him so much.”

  My cheeks heat, and my eyes burn in the corners. Trust my dad to know my reaction and save the day, though.

  “Anyway, we know we can’t expect to see you face-to-face anytime soon. The nice man from the GCC told us that even though your circumstances are unusual and you were technically given clearance to return to Earth when you were, uh, denied enrollment, that the no-return rule is still in effect for you since you traveled beyond Ellis Station.”

  It’s like a punch to the gut all over again, and I can tell they feel it the same way. It feels more real in this moment, looking at their faces, than it has through all of the explosions and fancy flying and evading arrest. I can never go back, and my heart hurts with it.

  “And it’s fine, we’re sure that’s the way you wanted it anyway,” Ammi cuts in. “The cows and goats may miss you desperately, but I’m sure you haven’t missed them one bit.” Her bright eyes dance with good humor, like I know they will when I tell her about the Goat Incident. She’ll love it. “We’ve always known you wouldn’t stay here a moment longer than you had to. Always with your head in the stars. We don’t take it personally.”

  “Well, your mother doesn’t,” Dad says, “but she’s always been the better half.”

  They share a smile that makes my heart ache for a minute, then turn back to the camera. “The point is, Nax,” my ammi adds, “we’re thinking maybe one day we’ll retire out there, once your grammy and pa are gone and your cousins get their heads out of—well, we still have hope for them. But we hope to see you again one day, beta.”

  “And until then,” my dad commands, “if you don’t send us regular messages and return to Earth orbit at least twice per year for video calls, I will send your mother out after you. She made senior detective this week, so be afraid!”

  I thumb a bit of wetness from my cheeks as I laugh, nodding even though they can’t see me. “Got it, Dad.”

  The light catches on the tiny jeweled stud in her nose as Ammi leans forward to press a kiss to her tab screen.

  “Love you, Nax,” she says.

  And it’s over.

  I’m tempted to lie here a while longer, play it again, but I shouldn’t. I have to put on my captain face and go to this meeting. Truth told, I’ve been avoiding the others since we came down from the high of our victory and jumped back to Valen. I spent a night at my brother’s house, played with his dog, got to know Brenn a bit, because I know they’ll be around and it turns out that Brenn is pretty great when she’s not being scary. The others? Who knows. They’ll probably be going their separate ways once they’ve had some downtime.

  I make my way down the hall to find Asra huddled in the corner of the rec room, listening to her sister’s latest message, while Case and Zee sprawl across the giant bed and watch the news projected on the far wall.

  “. . . appeared to be a sonic weapon that would affect the entire population as the signal was propagated across each planet. The technology, including the high-powered transmitter, is being studied by Earth-based scientists as we speak. The last of the so-called Earth First terrorists who had infiltrated the station were apprehended late last night. Efforts are under way to discover the full extent of the corruption, though experts believe it will be some time before all collaborators throughout the colonies can be identified and charged. Citizens of all worlds are asked to come forward with information that may assist local and interstellar law enforcement in making the arrests. An all-systems bulletin has also been posted for Dr. Maia Herrera, former headmaster of the academy at Ellis Station, who managed to flee before—”

  “Bullshit!” Case sputters. Zee shushes her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “—and is believed to have been assisted in her escape by a law enforcement officer sympathetic to the Earth First cause. Jace Pearson, a prominent al-Rihla politician who coordinated Earth First efforts on the colony and is believed to have funded much of the campaign, has also disappeared. Meanwhile, memorials and vigils are being held on Earth and all colony worlds in memory of the thousands who lost their lives on Ellis Station and the previously unknown colony of Tau’ri. The death toll is still rising as investigation
continues. The five youth responsible for bringing the—”

  Case taps the tab screen to silence the video, obviously as sick to death as I am of reporters playing the same footage over and over again: our call back to the GCC, our reactions to the official pardon, our group statement (written and delivered by Rion, of course). We’ve been famous for all of three days, and I’m already sick of it. With a roll of my eyes, I push off the doorjamb and clear my throat.

  “Meeting in the mess hall,” I say. “Coming?”

  Case shuts down the projection and scrambles off the bed, then takes Asra’s hand and pulls her up. Zee does a graceful leap off the bed and lands on the balls of her feet, bouncing.

  “We’ll see you there in a minute,” she says. And I’m alone again. I blow out a slow breath for this next one.

  When I get to Rion’s door, I poke my head in and wince at the sight of him reading on his bed. It’s hard to look at him right now, knowing he’ll be gone soon.

  “Meeting time. You in?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Hey, there you are. Thought you’d disappeared on us again.”

  He gets up from his desk and walks over to me, hands in his pocket, the air between us growing more tense with each step closer. I wrestle with myself for a long moment, my eyes locked on his, pulse hammering in my ears.

  I could. I want to. The tension stretches, tightens—

  I take a step back.

  “The others are waiting,” I whisper, though the corner of his mouth is lifted in a regretful smile. I back into the hallway, Rion right behind me, and every cell in my body screams to forget the others, make them wait, just go for it.

  But I’m not about to start something only to have it end tomorrow. He’s probably leaving. Why torture myself with a taste of what I can’t have?

  We walk together in near silence, our shoulders brushing in the narrow hallway. I wish I’d gotten to take that nap; I’m pretty sure I could fall asleep right on top of the mess table. Except we round the corner and find the others drawing on it. In permanent marker.

  “Are you defacing our table?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Nope,” Asra says, sketching a stylized, blocky number four. “Just personalizing a bit.” She finishes with a flourish and leans back, revealing a date—today’s date, sketched out in Universal Time Code: 17|08|2194. The name VSS Swift Kick arcs above it in looping script. She signs Asra Haque below it, then taps the marker against the table as I sit beside her, Rion sliding onto the bench next to me. Brenn and Malik walk in a moment later and take their seats, so I grab the pepper shaker from the center of the table and bang it gently against the shining metal.

  “I call this meeting of rejects to order. I hope everyone’s most recent round of interrogations with the GCC went well?” Groans, eye rolls, sighs. About what I expected. “Yeah, mine was great too. Glad it’s over. Brenn, you had news?”

  She nods and pulls out her tab. “Just wanted to give you an update on the repair work. The Kick was in pretty rough shape when you got here, but we’ve managed to finish most of the bodywork already. I’ve left a few scars in place that I personally think give her a bit of a rakish flair, but we’re happy to fix those for you too, if you want.”

  She projects a list of critical systems onto the wall with notes next to each. “The shield batteries took some serious stress, so those have to go, but the engines held up incredibly well. We’re reloading your ammo and missile tube, and we’ve already repaired the shrapnel damage to the starboard-side gun. I’ve got a few more toys I might slide under the hood if time allows, too. But there’s one critically important decision that still needs to be made. Your paint job.”

  She stands, claps a hand on my shoulder. “You drive a hard bargain, Captain Hall. For your near-insulting negotiated price, I couldn’t totally control my designer. Mind of her own, that one, quite something to rein in. But I think you’ll be happy with her choices all the same.”

  She walks back to her seat and taps her tab, and a perfect 3D scan of the Kick appears, spinning slowly. But rather than the disassembled, battle-scarred thing she is now, this Swift Kick is utterly gorgeous.

  Her long, sleek lines are even more pronounced, the pinstripes flowing along the curves of the ship and accenting her natural lines. If Brenn’s painters can pull that off, they’re true artists. Instead of her former dusky blue-black, she glows in a white-gold metallic paint, like a small sun. Flecks of silver dance where simulated light bounces off the paint.

  And just in front of the engines, her name is painted in strong, looping script: VSS SWIFT KICK, with some kind of design below it. Brenn zooms in on the spot, then folds her arms and gives me her smuggest smile.

  Under the arc of the name are two human silhouettes. One person’s leg is lifted in a high, strong kick. The outlined foot is buried between the legs of the other silhouette. A swift kick to the balls.

  “Oh my god,” Case says through a laugh, and Rion collapses forward onto the table beside me with an undignified snort.

  “Brenn, you truly know us well,” I say over the crew’s middle-school giggles. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Pleased you like it, ’cause that’s what you’re getting.” She plays it stern, but her eyes betray her humor. She waves her tablet near Asra’s and transfers the design file, and Asra immediately projects it back up on the wall. Brenn and Malik stand and make their way to the door.

  “Y’all come by for dinner at Brenn’s tonight, okay? I’m cooking,” Malik says, a bit of our shared accent creeping back in. My stomach growls in anticipation.

  “We’ll be there,” I say. He nods, and Brenn puts a hand at the small of his back to guide him out. I spread my hands and look to the others. “More news? Anything that can top that?”

  Asra grins. “Well, not so much news as digital spoils of war. Once you pulled your laughing-gas trick, I had plenty of time to play around in the Academy’s databases until they cut me off, so I thought I’d pull some goodies for you all. Here,” she says, hitting a few buttons on her tab screen, “are all of your Academy records, including forms filled out after your entrance exams. I didn’t read them,” she adds quickly. “I know there’s a lot of private information in there. But I thought you might want to read what they wrote about you before you make your decision.”

  “Decision about what?” I ask. I don’t bother opening up the file; the malicious comments and awful memories aren’t going anywhere. They’ll keep.

  Silence falls over the group. Some kind of significant eyebrow gesture passes between Case and Rion, and Rion sighs.

  “Guess you didn’t check your messages. We just got word a few hours ago,” he says. “The new interim headmaster at the Academy has unrejected us. We can start next week, if we want.”

  A hollow pit opens up in my stomach. I knew they’d all be leaving eventually, but I hoped we’d have a few weeks together, at least. Gotta breathe, gotta say something, be supportive—

  “Well, that’s awesome. I’m really happy for all of you. You’ll have to let Asra and I drop by to visit you all once you get your assignments. And the Kick is always yours if you need transport somewhere. Free of charge, of course.”

  Zee snorts in the awkward silence. “I appreciate the sentiment, Nax,” she says, folding her arms on the table in front of her. “But I was hoping you would have need of a medic for the Kick. I would be happy to offer my services.”

  My heart gives a little leap. “Of course! I mean . . . right, Asra?”

  Asra grins. “I’ll leave personnel decisions up to the captain, though I believe Zee’s track record speaks for itself. I already have our first cargo-hauling job lined up, and though it should be perfectly tame, you never know when you might need a mend or a swift kick to someone’s . . . head. And hey, the ship is kind of named for her.”

  Zee nods. “It’s true. I would be happy to kick many more things in this ship’s service, if you’ll have me.”

  “God, is this even a question? Of course
you’re welcome to stay. I’m sure Asra and I will be glad for the company, and you might even get to kick Jace when we go back for him.” I offer my hand to Zee across the table, and she gives it a firm shake. It’s a deal, then.

  “Yeah, I’m staying too. And no, that’s not up for a vote,” Rion says, leaning his shoulder against mine. Under the table, his hand lands on my knee and squeezes—and stays there, his thumb brushing back and forth. My breath catches in my throat at the warmth in his eyes. “We got shot together. Can’t just abandon you after that. Besides, if you’re flying around the galaxy taking jobs and making deals, you’ll need someone who can talk a game without putting a foot in his mouth.”

  A laugh bursts out of me, and I feel like my chest is cracking open—but in a good way, for once.

  “Fair enough. We can definitely use your skills in that area.” I let my fingers drift against his under the table, savoring the tiny thrill in my stomach. His smile is stunning. I’m regretting that opportunity I passed up in the hall earlier, but I’ll be making up for it the second we’re alone again. I can feel it already, my hand bunched in his shirt, his lips against mine, warm and confident like his voice, and . . .

  Rion smirks, as if reading my thoughts, and my cheeks grow hot. It takes me a moment to catch my breath before I can turn to Case and prepare myself for her verdict. We all know what’s coming, and I smile to make it easier for her.

  She fixes her eyes on me and shrugs.

  “I already sent a message back to the Academy.”

  There was never any chance of the entire crew sticking around. They’re all so smart and capable, with tons of talents they can put to use anywhere in the colonies. They all came to the Academy in the first place with ideas about what their life out here would look like. The tiny bit of hope I’d held on to crumbles. I can’t be selfish. I have Asra, Zee, and Rion, at least for now. Case deserves this. I hold out my hand for her like I did for Zee, and give it a firm shake.