Nightchaser

by Amanda Bouchet

  “Your personal choices reflect on who you are—and on what you can become.”

  On that, at least, we agreed.

  “Excess of any kind is to be avoided. Immoderation shunned.”

  Funny how that didn’t apply to wealth, when some had so much and others not enough. Or to violence. I sure hoped the Overseer didn’t actually believe he set an example of restraint when it came to ruthlessness and brutality.

  He pointed a finger right at us—at everyone across the entire galaxy. “Know. Your. Enemy.”

  Oh, I did. It was him. The man who’d streamlined learning to eliminate the arts and chosen to censor books and other information, imprison protestors, kill dissenters, condemn lifestyle choices outside of his highly limited box, and blow up democracy to replace it with himself.

  He went on for exactly five minutes, no more, no less, his main purpose seeming to be to remind people to control themselves—and others—to his satisfaction and to not hesitate to inform against their friends, neighbors, and whoever else. The subtext being or else.

  I listened, just like the citizens of Albion 5 around me, wondering how many people were buying into this, and how many people wanted to throw rocks at his gigantic face as badly as I did.

  The screen finally went dark, but nobody moved at first, an odd push and pull in the air between the undercurrent of fear and the displays of allegiance as some people started clapping, forcing everyone to do the same or risk being singled out.

  Some brave soul eventually took a step, and the city groaned back into motion after the Overseer’s latest speech. I dropped my eyes to my remote, got my crate moving, and started walking again, keeping pace with the other pedestrians and not letting on how shaken I was from seeing my father’s face and hearing his voice.

  Everyone kept their heads down after that, and no one looked at me sideways. My hover crate could have contained a week’s worth of groceries for all anyone knew. I was just a person like anyone else.

  No one stood out any more than I did, and I realized that we’d all perfected the art of blending in and avoiding notice. Maybe Hourglass Mile had nothing to do with it, because the whole galaxy was a freaking jail. Not everyone needed bars to be locked up, and what I saw around me was evidence of entire populations falling into complacency for the sake of personal peace.

  Because there was peace—for most. It was drab, dry, and sterile, and often a little scary when the Dark Watch was around, but not everyone wanted to be washed in color, especially if it was the purple-yellow of bruises, or the red of blood.

  A good portion of the galaxy had already tried that—and lost to Overseer brown.

  Only the Dark Watch generals wore crimson now, and it was hard not to read massacres into that. I was pretty sure their uniforms were meant to remind the entire galaxy of how the war had finally ended with the near-total destruction of the Outer Zones.

  The crowd that had gathered for the announcement thinned, and the overhead street lamps got brighter as I moved farther into Windrow, their cozy pale-yellow glow driving some of the darkness and anger from my thoughts. The neighborhood was tucking itself in for the night, with shops and businesses closing at street level and turning off their lights. The number of pedestrians steadily diminished, while small personal cruisers and public shuttles started accumulating overhead, their safety lights flashing and their engines droning with a calming buzz.

  Turning a corner, I found myself alone on a quiet street and tilted my head back, watching the tall buildings brighten toward the tops. Windows were lighting up throughout the residential towers, blazing warmly as people returned from their jobs and settled into their home lives. A gentle breeze swirled down the street from behind me, and I drew in a breath that tasted of humidity and summer. We tended to forget about seasons on board the Endeavor.

  Determined to enjoy the rest of my walk on such a warm, pleasant evening, I steered my crate around a bunch of cats all lazing on a quiet section of the sidewalk. They made me smile, even though the big dark-gray one eyeing me looked as though he would give me one hell of a fight if I disturbed them.

  Cooking smells snuck down a side street and made my mouth water. A cat meowed. Music came from somewhere. It was too bad we had to leave Albion 5 so quickly. I wasn’t quite sure why exactly, but I liked this place better than I’d liked any planet in a while.

  Maybe it was Susan and her devotion to old books, or the anonymity of a huge city, where I could both hide and get lost. Maybe it was the warmth and sunshine and the infinite adorableness of Bonk.

  Or maybe it was Shade Ganavan, Space Rogue, the first man in ages I’d wanted to undress.

  Walking steadily but without hurrying, I mulled over the disappointing unlikelihood of undressing Shade, given that he hadn’t made a single move in that direction the previous night. I’d thought he might, that he’d been about to, but then he’d gone quiet at the end of our outing and quickly dropped me off.

  I would get over it. I’d certainly gotten over worse.

  I eventually reached the bookstore and quietly knocked, since the lights were dimmed and the door was locked. Susan opened up for me, took one look at my large hover crate, and directed me around to the back.

  Once there, I steered the crate through a double-sized loading door and into a mostly empty storeroom, let it touch down, and powered off. Susan closed and locked the door again, and I finally relaxed. I was off the streets. I’d arrived without incident.

  Susan shifted from foot to foot, seeming giddy with anticipation and looking ready to tear open the crate. Her eyes shone brightly under the harsh overhead lighting, and her sunburst hair bounced. Her eagerness put a smile on my face and fed my own excitement now that I wasn’t so anxious. I’d already looked at the books myself, but now I could share them with someone who cared and who would appreciate them just as much as I did.

  I punched in the security code I’d set earlier and then pushed the button that would retract the door. Susan immediately leaned closer to see what was inside.

  “Can I help you unload?” I asked, stepping back to give her more room.

  She nodded, and we took turns taking the books out and stacking them into the empty bookcase that Susan had made available for them.

  I’d managed to read a few of the novels before we’d stumbled onto the floating lab and all hell had broken loose, but they were new to Susan, and she looked reverently at each one, treating them like the historical treasures they were. It was our duty to preserve them. Humanity had a rich past that spanned time and planets and that the Overseer was trying to beat out of hearts and memories because it didn’t serve his goals.

  “Great Powers,” she said in awe, holding up a dark leather-covered tome with gold lettering. The edges of the thick paper were browning and not quite smooth, as though they hadn’t been cut by a machine. It was clearly ancient, probably from a place the book had outlived by far. I’d admired it as well, when I’d discovered it in my haul.

  “I never thought I’d see something like this in my whole life. I think…” She looked over at me, the book clutched like a baby against her chest. I could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. “I think this book alone is worth more than the five thousand you asked.”

  Despite Susan’s obvious distress, her words took a big load of guilt off my chest. I’d been feeling awful for taking advantage of her preserver’s spirit and charging her so much.

  I unloaded another book and slipped it onto the shelf. It was actually a lot more than a simple bookshelf; it was a maximum security safe with temperature and humidity controls. Perfect for old books. Much better than the Endeavor’s cargo hold.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m leaving it here with you, where I know it’ll be safe,” I said.

  I’d meant to reassure her, but her expression just fell even further. “You’re in danger, aren’t you?”

  I s
hrugged, letting my own fear and habitual stress roll off my shoulders for Susan’s sake. “Always.”

  “Then you should charge someone more for this.” She tried to hand the priceless book back to me, but I didn’t reach for it. “Maybe the money could help you…get away.”

  I kept unpacking books for her, knowing she’d take her time discovering them all later. “If you want to, you can give that one to the Intergalactic Library. That’s what I was going to do with all of them.” I bit my lip, wishing I hadn’t said that. I was taking advantage of her. “If I didn’t have to pay for major repairs on my ship, I’d give them to you. I wish I could.”

  Susan looked so torn that I knew I had to ask for something in return, or I’d have a real argument on my hands.

  “What’s your personal water situation like?” I asked, breezing into a new subject like the previous one was already closed.

  Her distraught expression blanked for a moment as she processed the sudden switch. “Good. My drain and refresh happened just last week.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “And my tank is three cubes bigger than anyone realizes.”

  Nice. Water that hadn’t been filtered a gazillion times over AND three cubes for free. “Well, if you really want to give me something more in exchange for that nice book, I could definitely use a shower.”

  Susan scoffed. “That’s hardly equivalent.”

  “But it’s the only thing I need. And you can also consider Bonk as prepayment,” I added. “He’s like a dose of happiness in a cuddly, purring package.”

  A small laugh bubbled out of her. “Of course. You’re welcome to use my shower.”

  I smiled. “I’ll need soap, shampoo, and a towel, too.” Too bad I hadn’t brought clean clothes with me. Although mine weren’t dirty. In fact, they were mostly brand new.

  “You drive a hard bargain—” She frowned suddenly. “I don’t even know your name.”

  My heart blasted off like a rocket. We hadn’t done names. I only knew hers from hearing the Dark Watch talk and speaking with Shade.

  I sometimes joked in my head about wanting to tell people who I was, but I never really meant it. I’d told Jax early on because we’d both been in such bad shape when we’d met that we’d latched on to each other like lifelines, and there hadn’t been room in that rawness, fear, and pain for anything but the truth. I’d spent five years with the rest of my crew and only told them who I was the moment I thought we were all about to die. In a way, Bridgebane had forced it out of me, even though his threats were what had kept me silent in the first place.

  I’d owned my real name three times in the last eighteen years, once to Jax not long after we’d met, and then just recently, to my crew and to my uncle. Right now, with Susan, I wanted to be me again, the daughter my mother knew.

  But could telling her put her in danger? I didn’t think so. I’d be gone soon, and no one would ever connect us. The galaxy was too vast and populated for that. But if someone did, I wouldn’t blame Susan for betraying me. I would never want her hurt in my stead.

  I waffled, indecision plaguing me.

  Susan shook her head. “You don’t have to tell me. Forget I asked.”

  “I want to.” I swallowed. “I just don’t usually tell the truth.”

  “But the truth is something you want to tell me?” she asked.

  I nodded, then laughed a little—an odd gurgle that didn’t sound right. “You might not believe me.”

  Still holding that precious book, Susan looked at me like she had the other day, as though she were sizing me up. “I think I will.”

  In that case… “Quintessa Novalight,” I blurted out before I could change my mind.

  Susan’s eyes widened, and her whole body tilted back, even though her feet stayed planted where they were. My name was a bomb. It blew people away.

  “You look nothing like him,” she finally said, her voice sounding thin.

  I went back to carefully unloading the remaining books. The work helped to calm the anxiety sawing me in half again. “I guarantee I don’t act like him, either.”

  That brought some of the color back into Susan’s face. She smiled weakly. “Is your mother really dead?”

  Her quiet question reminded me that humanity in general had liked my mother and mourned our deaths. Mostly, I thought the people of the galaxy had felt sorry for us, being at the epicenter of a tyrant’s oppression. “Yes. But that fever didn’t take us both.”

  “Why the deception?” she asked, curiosity starting to override her shock.

  There was a multilevel answer to that, some of which I couldn’t explain myself. I simplified and held up two of the unsanctioned books, waving them around a bit. “I’m different. And the Overseer couldn’t have that.”

  Susan’s expression told me she understood well enough. “So he hid you?”

  I snorted. “My father thinks I’m dead. Only a handful of people know I’m not.”

  She didn’t ask how I’d gotten away, or what had happened, although she did ask, “So you live your life running from him?”

  Gently, I placed the last of the rare books into Susan’s storeroom safe. The shelves were almost full now. “Pretty much.” I turned back to her, opting for the simplified version again. “That, wreaking havoc on the Dark Watch, and liberating books.”

  Susan looked like she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. She continued to hold that one book, still cradling it in her arms. “You remind me of the Mornavail.”

  I frowned. “The who?”

  “The Mornavail. Haven’t you heard of them?” Susan seemed genuinely surprised, but if I hadn’t heard of them, I doubted that many people had.

  I’d devoured every kind of book at the orphanage, all those rejects of the galaxy that Mareeka and Surral had collected over the years—just like their kids. And I’d come across some pretty rare and interesting finds over the last five years, this recent haul being the most impressive yet. The galaxy’s one and only library had finally gained permission to house some historical artifacts, and anything I found and couldn’t quite bring myself to put into sticky little hands went there. The rest went to Starway 8.

  This was the only haul I hadn’t had time to fully read before passing on, but I’d at least looked at the title of every book I’d ever touched. I racked my brain, but I was pretty sure I’d never seen or heard the word Mornavail before.

  I shook my head to indicate that I hadn’t, and Susan finally set the ancient volume down with the others in the climate-controlled safe and then went over to a different bookcase. The shelves easily contained a hundred books, many of them old-looking, although nowhere near as archaic as what I’d just produced. She ran her finger along the spines until she found the one she was looking for and pulled it out, handing it to me. It was a lot newer than the rest, but still older than I was, if I had to guess.

  “Here. Take this and read it when you can. It’s one of a kind, so it, Bonk, and the shower will help me to pay you back.” She removed a big folded-up wad of universal currency from the pocket of her baggy sweater and gave it to me along with the book. “And this is yours, too.”

  I thanked her and slipped the money into my bag without counting it. If I trusted Susan with my name, I trusted her not to swindle me.

  Now for the book. I read the title out loud. “The Second Children of the Sky Mother: The Mornavail.”

  I glanced up, confused. “Second children?”

  Susan seemed a little sad all of a sudden. “Should she not have tried again?”

  I felt my eyebrows lift. A person had to buy into theology, or somehow reconcile it with science, to believe we were the creations of the Sky Mother at all. But another species on the human level? It seemed pretty far-fetched.

  A chill swept down my arms when I flipped open the newish-looking cover but then found the text handwritten in
ink. The letters were swirling, extravagant, and overly ornate. The anachronistic style didn’t make sense for a relatively new book. There was no cover page. The author hadn’t signed the work.

  Almost warily, I scanned the first paragraph.

  When the Heart of Men failed once again, the Faithful of the Galaxy prayed to the Sky Mother for aid. The Great Star answered, as She always does, this time by giving them the Mornavail, the Incorruptible who worked tirelessly to spread Her Light to the far reaches of the Dark. Her New Children made their Home in the deep pocket of the Fold—

  Holy shit! I snapped the book shut. “You have to get rid of this!”

  Susan looked startled.

  Way to be cool, Tess. My pulse drummed like the harsh tattoo of a military march. What else was in this book? What information? If the Dark Watch saw it, could they find the Fold? Inside me, I could already feel the rhythmic thudding of their heavy boots.

  “Um… This will get you arrested. It’s blasphemous,” I said, trying to turn fear of offending the church into an excuse for my strong reaction, even though I couldn’t have cared less about religion. Still, the powerful Church of the Great Star spewed all kinds of nonsense about the Wondrous Sky Mother, but not this. In one of those bizarre contradictions, the Overseer supported the teachings of the church, spinning them however he saw fit in order to make them mesh with evidence and tests. It was just another way to obtain greater control, his one compromise, perhaps—and necessary to help gather everyone into his fold.

  But this book was dangerous, no matter my personal beliefs. For all I knew, somewhere in the extravagantly handwritten words, it could give away the secret to finding our one safe place. It could get every single rebel killed.

  The tale of the Incorruptible Mornavail might have been a load of bullshit, some story the faithful cooked up to comfort themselves in the face of the Dark turning too dark at the height of the Sambian Wars, but the Fold was no myth, and I would protect it with my life.