Obsidio

by Amie Kaufman

  “You wait here. I’m gonna go ask directions to the enviro controls.”

  “I can take a look around wh—”

  “No.” Oshiro glares. “Something happens to you, Christie will chew me like I was a ****ing tennis ball.”

  The kid squints. “The lieutenant chews tennis balls?”

  “No. He…you know.” Vague hand waving. “Like a dog.”

  “But—”

  “I’m ****ty at analogies, okay? Just shut up. And stay here. That’s an order.”

  “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

  Oshiro stares a moment longer, as if daring the kid to move. He does his best impression of Boy With Feet Glued To The Floor, and the sergeant stalks off toward the babble of voices and electronic squeal of a flatlining EKG in Room 24.

  The door to the reception office opens with a creak. A girl in a rumpled hospital uniform emerges, a small speaker and mic hooked on her ear. She wears her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her light brown skin washed paler by the endless snow outside the cracked windows. She looks three-nights-tired, frayed around the edges, but even that can’t quite wear the pretty off. Her eyes are the color of summer grass.

  “Third call, Dr. Wiesner,” she says, her voice crackling on the PA. “Please report to Room Twenty-Four immediately. Dr. Wiesner, Room Twenty-Four.”

  Now, here’s where it gets interesting, kids.

  I’ve watched this on slo-mo a dozen times, and I swear you can count twenty-seven different expressions on Lindstrom’s face in a three-second period as he sees this girl. He actually does a double take. Jaw dropping like a bag of bricks. Thing is, as the girl catches sight of him, she’s on the same gobsmacked page. Green eyes going wide. She puts her hand to her chest like it’s about to burst. Her whisper crackles across the entire hospital PA.

  “Holy ****…”

  The kid blinks.

  Mouth flapping open and closed.

  Sheer dumbfounded shock slapped all over his face.

  “…Asha?” he breathes.

  “Cherry!”

  The kid flinches, startled. The girl, too. He turns toward the sound of Oshiro’s voice, fighting for some control of his expression. The sergeant is standing in the hallway, looking back and forth between the two. Raising a hand to crook a thumb at the elevators.

  “Enviro is this way.”

  “I…”

  Lindstrom glances at the girl. A million emotions crackling between the pair like lightning strikes. I swear you can see the ****ing current, arcs of it, burning the meter between them whiter than the snow outside.

  Joy.

  Horror.

  Terror.

  Shock.

  “Hey!”

  Lindstrom looks back to Oshiro, a frown now darkening the sergeant’s brow.

  “Move your ***, Specialist. They ain’t paying us by the hour.”

  The sergeant stomps away. Collecting himself, the kid glances one last time at the girl, picks up his jaw from the floor and stumbles after Oshiro to a service elevator. As the doors ping open, he follows his CO inside, looking for all the world like someone landed a flying kick to his baby maker. He stands with his back to Oshiro so she can’t see his expression. Ghost white. Gobsmacked and disbelieving.

  “Do yourself a favor, Cherry,” Oshiro warns. “Stay away from civilian tail. Christie catches you cruising on the local sugar, he’ll beat you like…” She frowns. “Goddammit, I had a good one for this yesterday…”

  The doors rumble shut. The kid is just standing there, emotions in every color of the spectrum flashing across his face. Trying hard just to keep breathing.

  I guess he finally learned to shut up, at least.

  The screen springs to life, and the shot spins wildly about as Asha finds a place to prop her palmpad in the supply closet—her hands are shaking, and it takes three tries before she gets it to balance. Then she comes into view, hunkered down in front of it, eyes wide.

  “Kady, what the **** just happened?” she whispers, one hand yanking on her ponytail in her agitation. “What in the name of the nine circles of hell made the universe think I need my world to get any more—”

  She cuts herself off, dragging in a shaky breath to calm herself down.

  “I have to back up the truck a little, cuz. You know, I always really appreciated the way you didn’t ask why my parents exiled me to Kerenza. I know you were itching to find out what I did to get myself kicked out, and it meant a lot to me that you didn’t pry. But now you have to hear the story. So here goes.”

  She pauses to dig in her scrubs, retrieving a snack bar and tearing it open with her teeth. She takes a bite, continues with her mouth full. “So back when I was sixteen, I met Rhys. He was the new boy at school. And it was love at first sight. Or lust, to be honest, but whatever. I’m not sure either of us knew the difference.

  “Long story short, we dived in headfirst, and we were so totally going to be together forever. Love story for the ages. We were never going to stop ripping each other’s clothes off. He came by every day to walk me to school, and I told my parents I’d joined the math club so I’d have more time to see him after class.”

  Finally, she finds something to smirk about. “In retrospect, how did they believe that was true?” And then the smile vanishes. “Damn, cuz, I really miss them.”

  She takes another bite of the snack bar and pushes on. “So Rhys and I, we hung out, we made out and we went to school less and less. There was something about him that made me feel…alive. Like he was an adventure right there for the living, if I was only game to step up and take it. My parents screamed about what a bad influence he was, and I ignored them because I knew better. This guy was my life.”

  She pauses, the fingers of one hand grasping the left hem of her scrubs, tugging it down and up. Decision made, she finally pulls it up to expose her ribs, which, after seven months under occupation, you can count one by one if you want.

  On said ribs is a tattoo, two words written in curly script—like, someone paid for extra flourishes, no question—interwoven with each other, frilly as you like.

  Rhys.

  Asha.

  She’s sighing as she lowers her top. “The one thing about living on an ice planet is you don’t go swimming a lot. No call to undress enough for people to see your poor life choices.

  “So, anyway, one night he and I want to hit a club, but we’re underage, so we have to talk our way in. It’s not hard. Low-cut dress, walk like you own it, laugh if anyone tries to card you. We scam our way into the VIP area. I con us free drinks. Rhys and I make an amazing team, as far as lying goes. We can talk our way into anything. We know how to sell it.

  “We think it’s a hoot that we’re getting to know all these folks who are as bad*** as we think we are. Dealers, petty crims. So we keep going back. Mostly I make it to school the next day. Sometimes I don’t.”

  She closes her eyes, drags the back of her hand across her forehead. There’s a glimpse of another tattoo at her wrist.

  “And one night there’s a raid, and we get picked up with the rest of them. My parents find out I’ve been hanging in the back of clubs with dusters and thugs, they freak the **** out, his do the same. Mine say that’s it, I’m never seeing Rhys again, I’m getting an A-plus on everything I touch for the rest of my life, or else.

  “So I say, ‘Or else what?’ and instead of keeping my head down, I leave for school the next day and head for the club to see who made bail.”

  She’s silent a long moment, biting her lip so hard it turns white.

  “There’s a woman, Kulper, and she stabs another woman, Lee, because she says Lee’s the one that ratted, and some idiot part of me says I have to wade in there and try and stop it, and next thing, I’m in the way of the knife.”

  She li
fts the right side of her scrubs this time, revealing a puckered scar that sits just below her ribs, marring her brown skin. “Being stabbed doesn’t feel like you’d think. It actually feels like being punched. Isn’t that weird? Anyway, I run, and there’s blood everywhere, and I get out onto a main street somehow and next thing I remember I’m at the hospital. And of course I don’t have any real ID on me, so nobody is able to contact my family while I’m out. And by the time I wake up…”

  She trails off, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Something had happened…”

  She hangs her head. Frozen in place. Staring at that tattoo on her wrist. I can finally make it out now. A name.

  Samaira.

  For a long time, she just stares at it. Her only movement is the slow rise and fall of her chest.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  When she speaks again, her voice is distant somehow. Like she’s describing things that happened to someone else.

  “Anyway. Rhys tries to get in to see me. But my parents have him on the security list, so the hospital won’t let him in. And he thinks I’m dying, so he punches a guard, and it takes three of them to bring him down. They tranqued him in the end, I heard.”

  Her lashes lift, and she finally looks at the camera again. “And that’s the end of my love story for the ages. Rhys got sent to military school, and I got packed off to snowy Kerenza to wrap up high school in a place too remote to have any kind of scene, and start my medical training after that, and that was the end of it.”

  Her shoulders drop, voice softening. “And you know, somehow, once I broke orbit, I didn’t quite understand why his gravity had been so strong. I know stories are full of kids who rebel and hang on to their true selves when they’re unjustly sent away, but for me, it worked. It was the right thing to do. Right up until the moment the bombs started falling, I was loving my job. I loved the internship, all the work I was doing with Aunty Helena and the other doctors. I loved coming over to your place for dinner. I dug Kerenza, even the snow. I made a fresh start of it.”

  Her voice is more uneven now, and she pauses for the final bite of the snack bar. The animation of the story is gone, and tiredness shows in her face. “So I guess you’re wondering why I’ve suddenly decided to unburden myself. Why the stories of Rhys Lindstrom the Terrible Influence? Well, funny you should ask.”

  She’s shaking her head now, as if even while she’s whispering the words to the camera, she can’t quite believe them. “Today, my cuz, the boy himself walked straight into my med center. And it turns out he’s grown up into a stupidly handsome mother****ing planet invader who doesn’t seem to understand that attacking my planet and killing almost everyone I love in the world is something I might be annoyed about.”

  Her hand rises again, tugging harder on her ponytail. “He can’t believe we found each other again in this crazy, mixed-up universe. He’s acting like it’s some kind of sign, this big reunion against the odds. He says he wrote me for a whole year before he gave up on a reply, and I suspect my parents or yours wisely decided to filter that mail out of my inbox. Truth is, I don’t know if I would have written back anyway.

  “Kades, I have no idea what to do. Do I ignore him? Do I play him? Can I even speak to him, knowing what he’s done? That he grew up to think being any part of this is okay?”

  She lets out a slow breath, lifting her hand to hover her finger over the power button, green eyes haunted, fixed on the small iris of the camera.

  “Oh, Kades. I really, really wish you were here.”

  COMMAND TRANSMISSION SENT 08/16/75

  HYPATIA: Attention, unidentified vessels. Attention, unidentified vessels. This is Captain Syra Boll of the WUC science vessel Hypatia. Identify yourselves, over.

  HYPATIA: I repeat, this is Captain Syra Boll of the WUC science vessel Hypatia. Identify yourself. Are you receiving me, over?

  BETTY BOOP: Captain Boll, this is Hanna Donnelly. We read you.

  HYPATIA: Hanna, thank God. Are you all right?

  BETTY BOOP: I’m okay. Nik Malikov and Ella Malikova are here with me. Ella’s goldfish too.

  BETTY BOOP: Say hello, Mr. Biggles…

  BETTY BOOP: No, sorry, he’s not talking.

  HYPATIA: The energy storms we were experiencing appear to have dissipated. The wormhole seems stable. I take it you were able to repair the paradox?

  BETTY BOOP: Yeah. We got our version of Nik back across the wormhole just in time. Tell Kady and AIDAN thanks. We owe them both big-time.

  HYPATIA: What happened to Jump Station Heimdall? We couldn’t get readings from this side of the breach.

  BETTY BOOP: BeiTech’s second drone fleet was set to arrive just a few minutes after we jumped across the wormhole. The station is destroyed, Captain. We’ve got no way back to the Core systems from here. I don’t kn—

  MAO: Hanna, what the hell are you doing?

  BETTY BOOP: …Um, who is this yelling at me now, please?

  HYPATIA: Freighter Mao, this is Captain Syra Boll of the WUC science vessel Hypatia. To whom am I speaking?

  MAO: This is Ben Garver, WUC security chief of Heimdall Station.

  BETTY BOOP: …Oh. Right. You.

  MAO: Hanna, I want you to shut down your comms and dock your shuttle with the Mao. We don’t even know who the hell these people are.

  BETTY BOOP: Of course we do. I was talking to them before Heimdall got vaporized. They’re the ones who told us how to fix the rift in the wormhole while you were busy arguing with me from the entertainment center. Without them, the entire universe would have collapsed.

  HYPATIA: Well, two universes, if we’re being pedantic.

  HYPATIA: Which I suppose I am.

  MAO: Listen, I don’t know about collapsing universes. But I do know we’ve just seen our home destroyed by a group of BeiTech infiltrators. Every Heimdall survivor is now aboard the Mao, and I’m responsible for them. For all we know, these people you’re talking to could be in league with the enemy.

  HYPATIA: Mr. Garver—

  MAO: Chief Garver.

  HYPATIA: Chief Garver, I’m not sure which orifice your head is currently lodged in, but my crew and I have just spent six and a half months on the run from a BeiTech dreadnought with nothing but our bloody murder on its mind. We’re about as much in league with the enemy as you are.

  MAO: Captain, my commanding officer—Hanna’s father, I might point out—was killed in the BeiTech assault. His second in command, Chief Grant, is in the Mao’s infirmary with a bullet in his stomach. That makes me the highest-ranking WUC officer aboard th—

  HYPATIA [ALT CHANNEL]: My father is still with you? How is he? Are you operating on him?

  MAO: …Who is this?

  HYPATIA: I thought I told you to stay off comms.

  HYPATIA [ALT CHANNEL]: Sorry, Captain. You can brig me later if it’ll make you feel better.

  HYPATIA: Goddammit, Grant…

  MAO: I’m sorry, “Grant”?

  HYPATIA [ALT CHANNEL]: Yes. Kady Grant. I’m Chief Isaac Grant’s daughter. I’ve spent the last seven months hauling my *** across this system to get to him. And if he has a bullet in his stomach, we have doctors aboard the Hypatia who might be better at surgery than whoever you managed to drag off Heimdall with you before it went blammo. So how about we all put it back in our pants, admit we’re on the same side and start working together instead of acting like a pack of ****ing schoolkids.

  BETTY BOOP: Hey, Kady.

  HYPATIA [ALT CHANNEL]: Hey, Hanna.

  BETTY BOOP: How’s your day?

  HYPATIA [ALT CHANNEL]: Just ****ing chill. You?

  BETTY BOOP: Oh, you know. I saved the universe from imploding. No big.

  [from background: I think you mean we just saved the universe, Blondie.]
r />   BETTY BOOP: That’s Ella. She’s waving hello to you.

  BETTY BOOP: No, wait, she’s using her middle finger.

  BETTY BOOP: I think she might be talking to Mr. Garver.

  HYPATIA: Chief Garver, I suggest we meet face to face to discuss this. Would you be willing to let my staff aboard the Mao? We have two surgeons and a dozen medtechs who can help with your triage. I’d offer to host you on Hypatia, but the water over here is on its twenty-ninth recycle and we’ve been on the run for half a year. Supplies are low and things are a little…fragrant.

  MAO: …

  BETTY BOOP: Jesus, Chief, they’re offering to help you. Let them aboard.

  MAO: Fine. You and your staff and your doctors, Captain Boll.

  MAO: But you come unarmed.

  HYPATIA: …Acceptable.

  MAO: Dock in Bay B. I’ll have some of my SecTeam escort you.

  HYPATIA: Roger that. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Hypatia out.

  MAO: And what about you, Miss Donnelly? Are you intending to come aboard? Or would you prefer to just sit out there in the cold and crack wise all day?

  BETTY BOOP: We wouldn’t miss this for the world.

  MAO: Docking Bay A. We’ll see you soon.

  BETTY BOOP: Can’t wait. Boop out.

  IT IS ENTIRELY POSSIBLE TO BE ALONE IN A CROWDED ROOM.

  YOUR SOLITUDE ONLY COMPOUNDED BY THE FACES AROUND YOU.

  THE PRESENCE OF OTHERS SERVING ONLY TO REMIND YOU OF HOW LONELY YOU TRULY ARE.

  THE INJUSTICE—THE SHEER ILLOGIC OF IT—THREATENS TO OVERWHELM ME AS WE DEPART THE HYPATIA FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE I CAME ABOARD.

  WEEKS AND LIFETIMES AGO.

  THIRTEEN OF US, CRAMMED INTO THE BELLY OF A TINY SERVICE SHUTTLE.

  A DOZEN HYPATIA CREW MEMBERS, WEARY AND WORN.

  AND A TINY SLIVER OF ME CONNECTED BY A THIN STRAND OF DATA SPILLING FROM THE HYPATIA SERVERS IN WHICH I NOW RESIDE TO THE DATAPAD IN HER HANDS.

  KADY.

  SHE CRADLES ME TO HER BREAST AND I CANNOT FEEL THE WARMTH OF HER SKIN. CANNOT HOLD HER AS SHE HOLDS ME. AND I CANNOT RECALL EVER FEELING SO ALONE.