The Gate to Futures Past

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Smiling to myself, I did just that.

  Jacqui joined Andi, pressing her palm gently to the sac. The Birth Watchers smiled at one another. NOW, little one, they sent together, mindvoices full of love and warmth.

  The sac quivered and shook, then split!

  A chubby fist poked through first, then a foot.

  Followed by HUNGRYHUNGRY!!!

  I wasn’t the only one to flinch; Clan offspring weren’t quiet. Gricel smiled peacefully, her shields taking over, and opened her arms. “Welcome, daughter.”

  “We can’t know her name yet,” Andi di Mendolar informed me, dignity quivering every bit of her little body. “It’s revealed at her naming ceremony.” The dignity dropped away, letting out the child. “A party, Sira! We’re all to come!”

  The Om’ray gathered around the bed smiled cheerfully and murmured. Gricel gave me a hopeful look. I was gaining a sense of their culture—the culture we’d lost—and it ran heavily to communal gatherings for any occasion, with feasting when there was food to spare. Explaining, I thought, amused, why the organizers of the ceremony had caught up to me before I’d made it out of the Core. “A party would be a welcome change,” I replied, somehow keeping a straight face. “I look forward to it.”

  Gricel’s mother, Worra di Eathem stood nearby. Her fingertips brushed Andi’s, who nodded. Talking to me through my Birth Watcher, were they? Sure enough, “Everyone wants her to have the best naming ceremony, Sira,” Andi told me. “Oluk can make the—” a tiny frown, “—I think it’s a cake. As Keeper, you could grant permission for him take what he needs from the food in little packages.”

  Had to be a direct quote. Raising a brow, I looked over the bed at Gricel’s Chosen, who had the grace to blush. Taking ingredients from the food packets—would it waste the remainder? “How many ‘little packages’ would you need?” I asked cautiously.

  “Merely a day’s worth, Keeper,” Oluk replied, his courage restored by a touch from his Chosen. “It’s the sweet, you see. To create the—”

  “We’d use what’s left,” Ghos interjected, anticipating my concern. “Worra plans a stew.”

  I should have guessed Om’ray wouldn’t be wasteful. A stew, though? The unlabeled packets, each a complete meal for an adult, came, so far, in twenty-one distinct varieties. While my cooking skills involved occasionally successful arguments with a kitchen replicator, even I could see combining such a range of ingredients might lead to an inedible disaster.

  On the other hand, Holl wanted those “use first” packets consumed as quickly as possible. Letting any spoil would waste more.

  Finally, a problem I could solve on my own, free of Sona or Council. “Go ahead,” I told the family. “Take whatever you need.” I grinned. The more I thought about it, the happier I was. What could be better for a ship full of weary grief than a celebration to welcome new life?

  Morgan, something inside me whispered. What if he could use the Maker to mute that grief? What if I could keep him safe while he tried?

  What if Sona damaged his mind beyond repair—that being far more likely?

  I focused on the present. “So. When’s the party?”

  Word of the birth, and the planned celebration, spread as quickly as thought, the news a tonic. As I walked back toward our little home within the Core, I imagined the mood throughout the ship lifting, imagined smiles and laughter—

  Barac and Morgan appeared, close enough to reach out and touch, the look on their faces enough to freeze me mid-step. “What’s happened?”

  My cousin shook his head and disappeared.

  “We’ve had a small adventure.” Morgan put his pack on our bed. His hand was streaked with a dull, metallic fluid. Streaks of the stuff were on the elbow of his coat and down the back. Details I took in without thought, too busy trying to puzzle what I sensed from him. Exhilaration or was it dread? Was that fear or relief? All this and more muddled our link.

  I watched him glance assessingly around us, notice who might be in earshot. Enough, I decided, taking hold of him . . .

  . . . My Human leaned his shoulders against the wall, grinning down at me. “Best you could do, I take it?”

  As we were standing, very close together, in what passed for a ’fresher stall on the ship, he had a point. I didn’t care. “What’s going on?”

  A hand—his clean one—buried itself in my hair, pulling me close until we touched noses. I stared at him cross-eyed. “I think we’re landing,” in a low husky voice.

  “Or—” with a quick kiss, “—we’re in big trouble and about to die.”

  Morgan told me—and Aryl—everything in a quick concise briefing, at the same time taking advantage of the shower to clean the remnants of ship from his hand and clothing.

  Standing out of range, I found myself stuck on a word. A wonderful hopeful fabulous word. If a new baby raised spirits on the ship, the change from this? “‘Landing.’”

  We’d be saved.

  He ran fingers through his hair to straighten it. “It’s a possibility.” With typical caution. “The ship’s acted to conserve resources all along. Shutting down the food supply system makes sense if we won’t need any more.”

  Implying Sona’s little stunt this morning when I’d asked for a distraction had served its purpose more than mine. This once, I didn’t mind.

  Morgan checked his coat, then folded it over his arm. “There remain other options. There could be a new food storage area waiting for us. Or—” he looked at me, “—this was a malfunction.”

  I frowned at what wasn’t a wonderful word at all. “I like landing better.”

  “So would I, if—” His fist slammed into the wall. I jumped. Morgan regarded it, his face expressionless. “Sorry about that,” he said after a too-long pause.

  I took hold of his arm, tugged hard. It didn’t move. “What’s wrong with landing?”

  “Nothing, if this was a new ship, with current information. Nothing—” his fist opened, hand pressing against metal. “—if where Sona is set to put down remains nice and flat—or hasn’t grown a city full of innocents since.” He stroked the wall, as I’d seen him do so many times on the Silver Fox. “Nothing at all, chit, if we had hands-on controls and could make last-minute corrections.”

  I felt Aryl’s attention, her quiet support. “So we do that.”

  Blue eyes bored into mine. “I thought—”

  “We’re in a shower discussing if we’re going to crash, kill people, or starve to death. I would rather be in a control room, watching you stop us from crashing or killing people. As well as not starving,” I added, to be clear.

  Witchling. I loved the little lines beside his eyes, how they deepened before a smile.

  “Greatest profit for the least risk. Isn’t that what you taught me? Well, Dreaming with the ship fits.” There, I got the words out, with some authority, too.

  Before fear could dry my mouth entirely.

  We came out of the accommodation into a buzz of activity. Everywhere I looked, people were doing what they could to dress for the occasion. Jewelry glinted, freed from wherever it had been tucked away. The M’hiray who’d arrived in formal wear were trading issa-silk wraps and gem-studded tops for colorful woven scarves or pieces of fine gauze from the Om’ray. Joy was blending us as I’d never expected.

  We have to stop this, I sent to Morgan, my heart sinking. We can’t spare the food. They have to know. No doubt Barac had told Ruti; this wasn’t a secret to keep from one’s Chosen. Or great-grandmother. Aryl, having been told, stayed near, like an island of calm. The rest?

  Calm wasn’t the reaction I expected.

  On the contrary, this is just what we need. He took my hand as we walked through the crowds, exchanged smiles and nods. Buys us time to find answers for them. Aloud, “I’d say,” with a curious lightness to his voice, “a celebration does us all good right now.”


  Those who heard him beamed their agreement.

  I didn’t. Postponing the inevitable wasn’t my way of doing things. Cool-headed assessment, however, was Morgan’s.

  I resigned myself to patience. My hair, oblivious, rose in a cheerful cloud.

  We hung back, waiting as everyone else began to leave the Core for the galley and the naming ceremony. I’d sent to Nik sud Prendolat, requesting she and her Chosen wait as well, as we’d a matter to discuss. If she’d thought it was about Andi—for Ruti had shared the situation with me at Gricel’s bedside—she’d known better when I asked for our other two scientists as well.

  Pretending to tidy a blanket, I turned my head to see Morgan, who wasn’t pretending to shift the contents of his pack. “If it’s answers we need, let me try asking the ship.” It had, I thought optimistically, to work eventually.

  He didn’t look up. “I thought we’d agreed to wait to Dream until tonight, while everyone’s asleep.”

  Well, yes, but tonight was so far away. “We could do something now.”

  “If it is a malfunction,” my Human countered as he clipped the flap closed, “the wrong question could prompt an action we really don’t want.”

  I grabbed a pillow and sat, wrapping my arms around it to keep myself still. Nothing could settle my hair. “You’re right. I’d just like to know why.” With perhaps too much emphasis.

  >Keeper. ‘Why?’ is insufficient. Please elaborate.<

  I spared a moment to think very unkindly of the universe—especially one part of it—before admitting in a small voice. “Sona heard me.”

  Morgan gave me that look.

  “I’ll have to say something back to it,” I retorted. “It’s waiting.”

  “I’ve known Skenkrans with more patience.”

  The winged beings had an attention span measured in heartbeats. I lifted the pillow to throw at him.

  He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ask it this, then.” After my nod. “What is the status of our food supply?”

  But we knew that—reading his face, I pressed my lips together and repeated the question word for word.

  >Adequate nutrition has been provided, Keeper.<

  A reply—and nothing, as far as I could tell, had changed around us. I gave a sigh of relief. “It says it’s provided ‘adequate nutrition.’” I hugged the pillow again, this time to hold in hope. “Does that mean what I think it does?” That our journey was almost over, that we had “adequate nutrition” until we left the ship at last—

  My Human shrugged, refusing to commit himself. “It means we need to talk to our scientists.”

  “I expect you to do the talking.” They shared a common language, science and technology, as well as a similarly dim view of authority. Years doing forbidden research in a hidden lab did things to your trust. “You know how they are.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve a feeling what they’ll have to say this time won’t need any translation.”

  Josa welcomed us to the portion of the Core I’d come to think of as the laboratory, the grouping of cluttered tables and beds he and his fellow scientists called home. It was well isolated from any others, having gained a reputation for strange smells and the occasional startling noise. Until I got a report of explosions, I wasn’t worried.

  I sat on a bed, easing between some disassembled equipment and a neatly folded lab coat; treasures, now. “Thanks for this.”

  Holl sat on another bed; Leesems, her Chosen, perched on a table. Their sons were absent; just as well. Josa joined Nik on their bed, faces solemn.

  Because Morgan was present.

  My Human squatted, as comfortable on his heels as sitting. Not by accident. It put him where all of us could see him and, more importantly in my opinion, he could do the same.

  “We need you to run some numbers,” Morgan began without preamble. “Quick and quiet.”

  Eyes gleamed with interest. Hands reached for devices; others for noteplas. When they were settled, Nik nodded. “Go on.”

  “Two scenarios, based on the food packets in the galley. You did an inventory?”

  “Of course.” The four exchanged glances.

  “Give us your scenarios,” Leesems said, looking back at my Human. “We’re ready.”

  Morgan almost smiled. “Good. The first: time remaining if we ration to keep as many alive as possible, as long as possible. The second: time with normal meals.”

  Holl set her noteplas aside. “This isn’t hypothetical.”

  “No. We have what Sona dumped this morning. That’s it.”

  Brutal, maybe, but facts, I reminded myself, were what these four preferred. “I tried a ’port,” I said, ignoring Morgan’s frown. What he hadn’t known, he couldn’t stop. “The locate didn’t work. The food room is gone.”

  “Barac’s checked the lift,” added my Chosen. “It no longer recognizes that level.”

  “The ship.” Leesems leaned forward. “But why? Removing unnecessary space makes sense, but this?” He looked at me.

  I looked at Morgan.

  “Something we plan to ask.” He kept their focus, studying their faces; I saw the moment he came to some conclusion of his own. “We’ve very little time. By breakfast tomorrow, everyone on board will know our food supply is finite. It could be sooner.”

  “Understood.” Holl drew her noteplas back on her lap, but didn’t consult it. “Second scenario, maintaining normal rate of consumption, gives us one and a half shipdays of food.”

  There were packets stacked ceiling-high in the galley—

  As if she heard my protest, she continued, “That’s a total of three meals, for one hundred and seventy-nine of us. The ship’s been meticulous in its math. I’ve assumed we’ll use the compromised packets as tonight’s meal, at the party, rather than any intact ones.”

  “Just as well,” Leesems pointed out. “If we’d thrown them down the waste chute, we’d be in worse shape.”

  Assuming the “stew” was edible, I told myself. Then again, if it wasn’t, we’d still need to eat it.

  I’d just have to explain why.

  “To continue.” Holl’s fingers brushed the back of Nik’s hand.

  The other scientist rapidly entered something into the device she held, then went still. “First scenario—rationing as best we can—” Nik faltered and Morgan reached out, put his hand on her knee. She stared down at him. “Being Human, you’d outlive us, except—” Her eyes went to me.

  This kept getting better, I thought, waving her past the obvious.

  “Seven shipdays before we run out. Two after that, we start to die.”

  Josa leaned forward. “You’ve assumed the ship doesn’t turn off the water.”

  “Correct,” Holl nodded. “And there’s another factor beyond our control. We don’t know how the packets were stored by the ship. If we ration those we have, some could spoil before we eat them.”

  Lovely.

  “Thank you. I ask you keep this to yourselves as long as possible.” Morgan stood, a signal bringing us all to our feet.

  “That’s it?” Leesems demanded, his eyes fierce.

  “It can’t be. What are we going to do?” Josa took Nik’s hands in both of his, but her voice continued to tremble. “What do we tell— How do we—”

  Holl shook her head. “That’s not up to us.” She raised her eyes to mine. “Is it.”

  “We have questions for the ship,” Morgan reminded them. Nothing but calm in his tone, nothing but confidence in his bearing. “It’s kept us fed this long. For all we know there’s another area with supplies. Give us time to find out what’s really happening.”

  An exchange of somber glances. They knew, likely better than I, how slim a hope this was, but Leesems gave a slow nod. “Agreed.”

  Somber on the outside; inside, their des
pair was a weight on my heart. We have to tell them about the landing, I sent in desperation. We have to give them some hope, or everyone will feel this.

  And if I’m wrong? If I’d thought their emotions a burden, it was nothing to the appalling dread Morgan allowed me to feel. If that hope’s a lie?

  Peace, Morgan. From Aryl. Sira.

  Guessing what she wanted, I held my hand, palm up, in the center of our group of six. One by one, they put their hands on mine, shields down.

  Morgan last, his eyes still troubled.

  Through that link poured Aryl, strong and vibrant; she might have stood with us.

  Courage, heart-kin! Her mindvoice swept us along like the beat of a drum. Put aside your fear. Put your trust in each other. With a swell of pride. We will survive this as we have survived all else, one day at a time, and together.

  For alone, we fall.

  Interlude

  YOU’RE SURE THIS IS A GOOD IDEA?

  Sira insisted. With Morgan’s devious mind behind it, Barac thought as he surveyed the galley. Distraction. Delay. It seemed to be working. Om’ray mingled with M’hiray, voices rising and falling with the buzz of cheerful conversation; the occasional laugh rang out.

  The di Eathems were the center of attention, their as-yet-unnamed daughter asleep in her mother’s arms.

  The only ones missing at the moment were his cousin, the Human, and the four M’hiray who might have answers.

  He could use the distraction himself. Landing? Not his favorite aspect of space travel, plummeting down through an atmosphere, though it beat the alternatives. Our job’s to enjoy ourselves. Without leaking anything we shouldn’t.

  Speak for yourself. Other than her sending, Ruti was virtually invisible to his inner sense.

  Barac gave her a quick hug. “Speaking for myself,” he said with a smile, “I’m impressed with what you’ve done to the place, and so quickly.” The former Council Chamber, witness to the first mention of every name for its Clan, had been transformed.