Compete

by Vera Nazarian

And then my elemental fury runs its course.

  Just like that.

  Grim reality sets in.

  And with it, something else, something worse happens to me, at this sight of him, stone-cold, silent, waiting for me to get a grip. . . .

  My throat, oh God, no!

  Suddenly the painful lump is rising, gagging me, and with it, all the pent up pressure of tears, the result of anger, hopelessness, perfect despair. Everything has come together in a perfect storm—the absolute loss of him (not that there ever was any hope in that department, who am I fooling), the no longer deniable loss of control over my ability to help my family back on Earth, the fact that even if I could, it would probably make little difference, since the asteroid event is an unresolved mystery far more complex than we were given to believe. . . .

  All I can do now is become a Cadet or Civilian and do the best I can with my paltry life to make sure my sister Gracie and brother Gordie achieve their personal goals and have the best life possible on their new world.

  Because that’s all I have now—my two siblings.

  And as far as my personal life, I have nothing.

  Yes, I am being dramatic, I know. I will probably get a decent job in Atlantis, and I might live a reasonably fulfilling life, and even find someone I can care about.

  But it would be a different Gwen Lark, a dead and dull and mediocre one who does all these things instead of doing all she could.

  Because right now, I am at a loss. I’ve lost the fight, lost everything—even more than he suspects—and all I can do now is hold back those tears.

  Meanwhile, my beloved, perfectly cruel commanding officer continues watching me. And after a few seconds of silence and me struggling not to cry, he says: “The default choice is Civilian. If you do not make your decision by the time we land, I am recording you officially as a Civilian. Think well about what you are going to do with your life.”

  I nod silently, and I still make no sound. Because if I so much as open my mouth or modulate my breath, the dam of tears will burst. . . .

  “Fine,” he says softly at last. “We are done with the interview. You may go.”

  I stand up, feeling my head reeling with vertigo. And I leave the CCO.

  That night, I call up Gracie and then try my brother Gordie, just to make sure they are both well. They are now my life, and I am their surrogate mother.

  Gracie sounds fine, and she tells me her career interview went very well. “Can you believe it, Gee Two, I might get a Fleet assignment in the capital city itself, Poseidon, which is supposed to be highly desirable!” Gracie tells me, grinning into the screen. “Blayne thinks we’ll probably get to find out very soon. After we land, we’re supposed to report directly to the nearest Fleet Cadet Headquarters—”

  I smile and nod and listen to her talk.

  And then I chat with Gordie, who tells me he’ll be likely staying in Poseidon too, depending on whether he likes it when he gets there. I have a feeling much of his “decision” depends upon a certain girl and her decisions—but I don’t press poor Gordie on it, letting him have his dignity for now.

  Then, I decide to talk to Laronda. I call her and she picks up immediately, with her noisy Barracks in the background.

  We talk. First I ask her about her plans, which are reasonably solid—settle in, probably in Poseidon, get a good post with the Fleet, where, not entirely sure yet, et cetera.

  And then I tell her nearly everything about what’s happening with me. I tell her what happened at the Yellow Dance, and then what happened at my interview.

  I tell her I will likely not see Kassiopei at all after we arrive.

  Laronda listens to me gently, patiently, as my gusher tears begin to come again. And eventually I shudder with weeping, until I can cry no more.

  Laronda puts her fingers up to her lips, and then presses them against the display screen, willing her kiss to transfer to me.

  Afterwards, long after I disconnect our call, I sit in the cabin in silence.

  At some point near midnight, the voice of the ship’s computer intrudes upon my abysmal emptiness.

  “Now entering Atlas orbital aphelion. . . .”

  And then, about a minute later:

  “Now leaving Atlas orbital perihelion. . . .”

  But I ignore it, and instead pull down my sheet and blanket and get into bed.

  As the Fleet continues to move closer and closer to Atlantis with every second, I sink into a dreamless abyss of sleep.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The next morning, just three days before our arrival on Atlantis, I endure breakfast without any appetite, and then drag myself over to the CCO at 8:00 AM. I see that neither the CP, nor Gennio are here yet, while Anu looks very agitated.

  “The Imperator just called!” he tells me with utmost dramatic importance. “He wants to speak with the Imperial Crown Prince immediately!”

  “What’s wrong?” I say with alarm.

  “I have no idea! But I think I need to get the CP, right now.”

  Fortunately Aeson Kassiopei arrives within the next minute, and Anu starts talking in rapid Atlanteo to him, and all I can catch is that it’s urgent and the Imperator seems more intense than usual.

  “All right, I will call him,” Aeson says, glancing from Anu to me. “Now, both of you—out in the hall.”

  And he points to the door.

  We hurry outside, where we spend the next fifteen minutes milling around the corridor, hanging out with the guards, until Gennio gets there, and Anu informs him with pomp about the Imperator’s call.

  Eventually we are allowed to return inside the office.

  When we walk in, the Command Pilot appears grim and upset. He paces, then stands near the desk, and does not speak immediately, and I can see his chest rise and fall with each breath. And then he looks directly at me.

  “Lark,” he says with dark intensity. “And both of you too—Vei, Rukkat. Major change of plans. We don’t get a leisurely arrival. Instead, as soon as we arrive in orbit, we—the four of us plus Consul Denu and a few other officers—are all going to take a shuttle directly to the Imperial Palace in Poseidon. The Imperator has informed me that he will be holding Court on the same evening as our arrival, and I have to be there. Also, Lark, you have to be there too—apparently my Father has been informed in detail about you, Lark—about your voice, and quite a few other things. And he expects you to be brought before him immediately.”

  “Oh, wow . . .” I say.

  “Her voice?” Anu says, staring at me. “What’s with her voice?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Later,” Aeson says, with a dismissive motion of his hand to Anu.

  At this point I am forced to remember that neither Anu nor Gennio know about my voice and its abilities.

  “So . . . what does this mean?” I say, watching Aeson’s grave expression. “What do I need to do?”

  “You need to be ready to leave with us as soon as we arrive,” he replies sharply, breathing hard—so much so that my eyes widen. Why is he so unsettled? “Have your personal belongings ready to go on a moment’s notice.”

  My pulse starts racing with stress. “Okay. . . . What about my sister and brother?”

  He shakes his head. “They will be brought down to join you later. Inform them that you are leaving early, ahead of the rest of the Fleet, and they are to wait until further instructions. That is all.”

  “But—” I begin.

  “That is all,” he repeats in a hard voice that borders on a power voice.

  Wow. . . . I have never seen Kassiopei so agitated. Not even during our most emotional confrontations.

  “Yes, Command Pilot,” Gennio and Anu both hurry to say.

  And then for the rest of the day the CP makes calls, speaking in a commanding voice to various personnel, then leaves the office for various meetings and inspections.

  Gennio, Anu, and I have the presence of mind to take care and not to get in his way.

  Th
at evening I spend in my cabin talking to Gracie and Gordie, explaining the situation and my sudden new orders.

  “OMG, you get to see the Imperial Palace on your first day!” Gracie exclaims.

  “Not only the Palace, but the Imperator himself!” I remind her.

  “Crap! What will you wear to Court, Gee Two?”

  “I have no idea.” I sigh tiredly. “And for now I’m not going to worry about it.”

  And then I look at Gracie. “You stay put, sis. Everything is going to be okay, you’ll see. This is just a weird quick introduction to Atlantis, I realize. But, it will be okay.”

  “I know. . . .” She nods. But she does not look calm at all.

  As for Gordie, he is not near his video screen as usual, so I leave him a detailed message explaining the situation of my early departure.

  And then I get to bed early, because honestly, I can’t take the stress and uncertainty any more, and the sooner it all happens, the better.

  The next day—two days before our arrival in Atlantis—is mostly inconsequential. I have no classes, my work duties are light, and I can barely focus on anything. Kassiopei is mostly absent from the CCO, and about the only interesting thing that happens is around late afternoon. That’s when the ship’s computer announces that we are passing the orbital range of Olympos, the second of the gas giants.

  Which means that, next up, is Atlantis itself. . . .

  I spend a lot of that day on the ICS-2 Observation Deck, together with so many other Earth refugees. We stand and stare at Hel, a large radiant white star that is much brighter than Earth’s Sol, and which now prominently resides in the viewport windows outside.

  Atlantis is the fifth planet from Hel, and its orbit is at a greater distance than Earth is from the Sun, with a longer year. Because of Hel’s size and brightness, the extra distance is actually a good thing—it allows the conditions that make it hospitable for life and similar to Earth.

  “Please take care not to look at it directly for too long,” we are warned by Atlanteans. “Even with the safety shields enabled, because of its particular brightness, vision damage can occur.”

  “What happens when we are on Atlantis?” someone asks. “What if we stare at Hel from the surface?”

  “Not recommended,” the Atlantean crew member replies. “Besides, you will all be issued strong sunglasses which you will be required to wear every time you go outside during daylight hours, for at least the first year of your arrival, until your eyes get better acclimated to the bright daylight glare.”

  “Well, drat, how bad is it?”

  “Not too bad. But, it is a healthy precaution. And you will eventually get sufficiently acclimated. However, what will take a bit longer to get used to, is the somewhat heavier gravity.”

  And then we are all forced to remember the information from our Culture classes, about how initially we will feel somewhat more noticeably tired after ordinary physical exertion than we would on Earth with lighter gravity.

  That should not be fun at all.

  Maybe that’s why Atlanteans are such big fans of zero gravity dancing, I think ruefully.

  At last, it’s the day before our arrival on Atlantis.

  First thing in the morning we get Commander Manakteon Resoi’s announcement transmitted to all the ark-ships in the Fleet. Basically he tells us that we arrive in orbit around Atlantis tomorrow morning, at 7:24 AM, Earth Universal Time Coordinated, which will be the last time we will be using Earth’s time clock.

  After we make orbit, the Fleet will begin unloading cargo for the first three Atlantean days. Only then will the Earth refugees start being ferried down to the surface to various designated locations and different continents. More will be explained to us at that point.

  Of course, none of that applies to me or the other CCO Aides.

  “Your schedule is as following,” the CP tells us. “We arrive in Atlantis orbit at 7:24 AM. You are permitted to watch our historical approach from the Observation Deck, together with everyone else in the Fleet. However, immediately afterwards, you are expected to be in Shuttle Bay One at 8:00 AM sharp, ready to go, with all your personal luggage. That’s when we board transport shuttles, and we depart to the surface, immediately. Understood?”

  “Yes,” I say, and Gennio and Anu echo me.

  “Good, and don’t be late under any circumstances.” Kassiopei’s expression is grim and forceful.

  We nod again.

  Later that afternoon I grab dinner with Chiyoko and Blayne at the Green Quadrant Cadet Meal Hall Three, basically to say goodbye—at least for now.

  “I don’t know where I will end up,” Chiyoko tells me thoughtfully. “It might be interesting to start with Poseidon, their capital, and then, it depends on what post I get in the Fleet.”

  “Same here,” Blayne says, picking up his glass of lvikao. “Most Cadets here on ICS-2 talk about Poseidon as their destination. I don’t know, sounds good to me. Especially considering we’ve no frigging idea what anything’s really like down there. The CP told me during the eval interview that he wants me to be stationed close to the Cadet Fleet School, so that I can continue with the LM Forms demos there. So, what about you, Lark?”

  I tell them that I actually have to go down to the surface early, but withhold some of the details.

  “Basically, I’m part of the CCO staff, so all of us Aides have to accompany the Imperial Crown Prince to the reception or whatever Imperial Court function it is.”

  Blayne whistles. “Wow, fancy.”

  Chiyoko raises her brows in interest.

  “Hmm, does that mean that Lark Two is leaving with you early also?” Blayne asks, all innocent-like.

  I hold back a smile. “Actually Gracie is staying put for now. I believe she’ll be coming down to the surface at the same time as all the rest of you guys—about three days later.”

  We chat and eat for a while longer, and then say our goodbyes, because, hey, you never know if I’ll have the chance to see them again before I depart.

  As I head back to my cabin in the Yellow Quadrant, moving roundabout past the Command Deck hub area in Blue, I run into Logan Sangre in the corridor.

  Logan is walking alone in his usual determined stride. The moment he sees me, he pauses, startled, and then looks at me. His gaze goes cold and intense, and for just one moment I see a flicker of pain that quickly disappears behind a well practiced mask.

  My heart twinges painfully at the sight of him . . . there’s that instant of familiarity, of all kinds of mixed memories being dredged up.

  No, don’t. . . .

  Our gazes lock, for a moment.

  He nods curtly, but says nothing.

  And then he resumes walking.

  I stare in his wake briefly, then also continue on my way.

  The morning of our arrival on Atlantis, the daylight alarms go on an hour early. I wake up to the gentle rising illumination and squint at the clock on the wall, and it’s 6:00 AM.

  Good, I think. It gives us more time to get ready.

  I get into the shower, get dressed, and then start quickly putting away all my belongings into the two duffel bags. By 6:45 AM I’m ready to go, and my packed bags sit side-by-side on top of the blanket covering my neatly made bunk.

  A strange pang of wistfulness comes to me when I look around at this tiny ship cabin that has served as my home for the last year. . . . Feels like it’s my last transition link between Earth and Atlantis.

  Because, whatever happens, tonight I will definitely be sleeping somewhere down on the planet surface, on Atlantis. . . .

  Wow.

  As I’m getting a quick breakfast at the Officers Meal Hall, the familiar ship’s computer voice sounds from the walls:

  “Attention all personnel. . . . Thirty minute warning. . . . Arrival in Atlantis orbit. . . . Thirty minute warning. . . .”

  I finish eating, gulp down the last of my drink and head out of the meal hall to the ICS-2 Observation Deck.

  It’s time to watc
h the approach!

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  It’s not surprising that the Imperial Command Ship Two Observation Deck is packed with people all around the perimeter of the ship, so that it’s standing room only, everywhere.

  Against the black velvet of space, thickly scattered with distant stars, Hel shines large and bright in the windows, incandescent white, and about the size of a golf ball.

  We are told that since Hel’s solar system is in a general cosmic region that’s densely populated with stars—basically somewhere halfway to the “urban” center of this galaxy, compared to Earth’s solar system which is out in the periphery, out in the distant “suburbs,” being on one of the out-flung spiral arms of the Milky Way Galaxy—because of it, the night sky of Atlantis will always seem a little thicker with stars.

  “When will Atlantis appear in the window?” teens ask constantly, as waves of excited mutterings travel around the deck.

  “Soon!” one Atlantean officer says with a smile. “Well, actually, it’s already there. It’s been visible to the naked eye for at least five days now—but only if you knew where to look. Just start watching for a large green-blue dot!”

  We all go nuts, staring at the windows in exited agitation.

  “There!” Someone points it out at last. The reason it’s been hard to see is because Atlantis appears directly in-line, on approach with Hel, whose bright coronal glare prevents visibility.

  But now, that we are so close, we see it briefly in transit across the face of Hel, a dark silhouette that gains in size, right before our eyes. And then, as we approach closer, it moves in perspective so that Hel is now right next to it, and we begin to see its natural albedo.

  Atlantis!

  It’s a green-blue marble, and in a few minutes, a green-blue golf ball.

  “Attention all personnel. . . . Fifteen minute warning. . . . Arrival in Atlantis orbit in fifteen minutes. . . .”