That’s the other part of it. The more you run a machine, the faster it’s going to break down. So it wasn’t just that the cold was getting worse. It’s that the cold borked the machines that were supposed to keep us warm. Honestly, that’s the most hilarious thing about this ship.
What is?
There’s so many people crammed in here. Folks are passing out because it’s way too fucking hot.
• • •
Shouting. That was the last thing Asala wanted to hear, but there it was, clear as day, a pair of voices skirmishing down the hall. With a weary sigh, Asala set down her handheld, put on her shoes, and followed the sound of the fight.
She entered Niko’s quarters. Its primary occupant was on their feet, doing their best to hold their own against Cynwrig, who . . . well, had staged and won a bloody coup against a long-standing planetary government. Niko was screwed here.
“I don’t care whose brat you are,” Cynwrig spat. “This is an act of aggression, and as soon as I am off this—”
“I didn’t do what you’re saying!” Niko shot back, their voice trembling and angry. “I’m trying to fix it.”
“Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure. Let’s take a look at your precious computers and we’ll see what—”
“Okay,” Asala said. She stepped forward with her palms up. “Everybody needs to—”
“This little shit,” Cynwrig said, “shut down the scramblers—”
“They’re the problem!” Niko cried. “They’re what’s causing all the—”
“—and tried to access my personal files.”
Asala looked right at Niko. “Is that true?”
“No.” The kid looked like they were at their wit’s end. “The scramblers are not compatible with this ship’s core systems. The way they were jury-rigged onto this ship—it wasn’t designed for that. I’ve been trying to patch it, and I had to reboot the scramblers—it only took a sec. At most, we were trackable for three minutes.”
“That’s hardly a sec.” Asala frowned.
Niko threw up their hands. “Nobody even knows we’re out here, and they don’t know what to look for, so even if somebody were scanning this exact spot in space at this exact time, they wouldn’t know who we were or where we were going. It was fine.”
“It was a breach of the security protocol I laid out before setting foot on this ship,” Cynwrig said. “I’ve discharged soldiers far more competent than you for much less than that.”
“Yeah, I bet you have,” Niko said.
“Enough,” Asala said. “Niko. Her files?”
“I didn’t.” Niko sighed. “I wrote a—”
“I got a hacking alert,” Cynwrig said, shaking her handheld in Asala’s direction. “Local origin point.”
“Can I finish? I wrote a program that would seek out the specific problem areas on the ship. Things where devices or concurrently running programs weren’t playing nicely with each other. It must’ve tried to assess your handheld. Yours, too, probably,” they said to Asala.
Asala hadn’t gotten a hacking alert, but then, she doubted her handheld’s security programs were as robust as Cynwrig’s. She was quiet a moment. “They’re your ally’s family,” Asala said lightly.
“That doesn’t excuse them,” Cynwrig said. She had less of a purchase on the situation now, and it looked to only be making her angrier.
“I’m not saying it does. I’m saying this is a kid on their first field trip”—she saw Niko bristle at that—“and from the level of ass-kissing I’ve experienced, they’re just trying to do a good job. If the Khayyami government wanted your files, they would’ve got them on Khayyam. They wouldn’t have waited for you to be on a sealed ship with a grand total of two possible culprits. Especially since you’d be likely to space one of them, and that means a fifty percent chance of spacing the president’s kid. Ekrem is a lot of things, but he’s not an idiot.” She stuck her thumbs in her pockets. “Niko, please apologize to the High General of Gan-De for breaking her security protocols.”
Niko looked betrayed. “I—”
“I know I said please, but it’s not a request.”
Niko sighed. “General, I was just trying to help. I’m sorry. I should have checked with you—”
“And me.”
“—and Agent Asala first.” Their mouth twitched. “I didn’t mean to cause you any offense or distress. I’m sorry.”
The fire was dying in the general’s eyes, but the embers still glowed. She huffed and left the room.
Asala waited until she heard the thunk of Cynwrig’s door. “I think that means we’re not going to war, at least.”
Niko sat down on the edge of their bed, their limbs hanging limp. They looked exhausted. Had they been sleeping? The glitches in the ship were a pain, yes, but hardly worth Niko wrecking themself over. Was this all in an effort to impress?
Asala leaned against the wall. “What were you really trying to do?” she asked. “And don’t bullshit me.”
Niko exhaled. “The scramblers honestly are the problem.” They ran their hand through their floppy hair. “But . . . I did hack her handheld.”
“Why the fuck—” Asala caught herself launching into a shout of her own, and put on the brakes. “Why the fuck would you do that?” she hissed.
“Because she”—Niko pointed hard at the door—“has been on my ass about what we’re actually doing out here, and I don’t know if she’s just being paranoid or if she knows something. If she knows why we’re really here, then she knows about the Vela falling off the map. And she is not the person who should have that particular chip in her pocket.”
Asala said nothing for a few moments. “And?”
“And what?”
“Did you find anything?”
“Are you . . . are you not mad about this?”
“Of course I’m fucking mad about this. But you did it, so . . . ?”
“No,” Niko said sourly. “Her stuff is so encrypted I couldn’t untangle it.” They gestured at their gear. “Not with this. I could’ve done it back home.”
Asala drummed her fingers on her arm and considered. The kid was nervous, and annoying, and was assuredly going to make a roaring mess of something at some point during this job. But hacking the general’s files—even a failed hack—took guts, and their reasoning showed political savvy, if not the wisdom to wield it. “That was both pretty smart and very stupid,” she finally said.
“Those can’t be true at the same time,” Niko said.
“In this line of work, there’s a lot of crossover.” Asala let out a mighty sigh. “We have two more days until we drop her off. Do you think you can avoid causing a diplomatic crisis between now and then? Just read a book, or something? Like a normal person?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Asala started toward the door, then looked back at Niko, their eyes bloodshot from staring at screens, browbeaten and yelled at and wanting so badly to save the world. She closed her eyes and chose her words carefully. “I care, Niko.”
Niko looked up. “What?”
“I care. Of course I care. About—” She gestured vaguely toward the window, toward everything unfolding on worlds beyond. “You don’t know what it’s like. You think this is all some big heroic quest. Some moral-of-the-story. You need to get over that shit right now. It’s different when you know their faces. When it’s not just people who are dying, it’s your mom and your dad and your friends, it’s everybody on your street, it’s your language teacher who stayed after school to help you pass your quizzes, it’s the lady who used to sell you fireworks whose name you never bothered to learn. It’s everyone you ever met, and there is no hope for any of them. That’s what we’re going up against here. That’s what you are going to find on Hypatia. They’re not looking for a savior. They don’t want a savior, and they don’t want a new home. What they want is the life they had before everything went to hell. They want the people they lost. And they can’t have that, so they deal however best they can.” She
met Niko’s gaze. Theirs was wide; hers was steady. “Do you get that?”
Niko nodded. “I think so,” they said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. I don’t need pity.”
“No, I meant sorry for saying that you don’t care. That was . . . that wasn’t okay.”
“It wasn’t.”
“That was an asshole thing to say.”
Asala accepted with a nod. She waved her hand over the computer stuff on the floor. “Clean this shit up. Read a book. Don’t hack any more government officials.”
• • •
Can you tell me what this line is for?
There’s a doctor who’s set up shop in one of the supply closets.
And how long have you been in line?
What time is it?
A little after ten.
Three hours, then. And here I thought if I got here early . . .
You’re not seriously ill, right? Because if you are, I’m sure these people will let you—
No, no, I’ve just been crying. I’m pregnant.
Ah.
And I need to not be.
Would you like me to turn the camera off? I won’t use this if you don’t want me to.
No, it’s fine. It’s just . . . I always wanted to. But not here, not without knowing where I’ll end up or if it’ll be okay there. I can’t do that to a kid.
Would you like some company?
What?
I can wait with you, if you’d like.
Yeah. I’d like that.
• • •
Niko watched out the window of their quarters as the Gandesian transport pulled away from the Altair. Cynwrig was gone, on her way back to her grandkids and her total disregard for human life. Niko hadn’t said goodbye, obviously. They were sure nobody had wanted that.
They flopped back on their bed and closed their eyes. They were relieved, yes, but it didn’t feel good, because they’d failed, too. Asala was below decks switching off the scramblers now—the two of them didn’t warrant that level of defense, and they both were looking forward to carrying out the rest of their journey without random screeches and freezing menus. Not that the glitches would continue, now that Cynwrig was gone. But Asala didn’t know that.
Niko fell asleep, only to be awoken an hour later by an incoming message on their handheld. Ansible line, and encrypted. Niko rubbed their eyes and sighed. So easy with the scramblers off.
Reports received. Please acknowledge when you receive this message.
Acknowledged.
There you are. You okay?
Yeah, no need to worry. Neither of them know anything.
That’s good, but we were worried about you, too. This wasn’t the plan, but that bait-and-switch with her ship happened too fast to get word to you.
I tried to hack a hole in the scrambler net, but it screwed things up all over the ship.
Scramblers will do that.
I knew she’d freak out if they went down. But I should’ve done it sooner. It was just a dicey situation here.
We understand.
She’s gone now. I’m sorry. I didn’t get anything.
That wasn’t your job in the first place. You showed initiative by trying. We’ll get another opportunity.
What should I do next?
Hang tight for a while. We need to re-strategize. Contact us once you’ve reached Hypatia. Keep us informed on your findings.
Will do.
And be careful with your partner there. She’s not stupid.
I know.
There was a knock on Niko’s door. “Come in.”
The door slid open. “You can stop hiding now,” Asala said. “Unless you’re scared of me, too.” She looked them over. “Were you asleep?”
“Yeah—I mean, no. I mean—kind of.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s cool. I was basically awake anyway.”
Asala paused. “I was going to have lunch,” she said. She weighed something. She made a decision. “Do you want to join me?”
Niko smiled and shoved their handheld in a pocket. “I’d love to.”
• • •
What’s your name?
Melis.
And how old are you?
Five.
Melis, why is your family on this ship?
Because our planet . . . our planet is too cold.
Were you cold there?
Yeah.
Me too. Why is our planet too cold?
Our sun is also too cold.
That’s basically right. Our sun is unstable, and it’s not putting out the amount of heat we need to keep our planets habitable. Do you know what “habitable” means?
Yeah.
How do you feel about going to live on another planet?
Mmm . . . I don’t know.
Are you excited? Are you scared?
I’m mad.
You’re mad. Why are you mad?
I didn’t want to leave our house.
Was it a good house?
Not as good as Anan’s house, but I didn’t live there. This ship smells bad and it’s loud.
Who’s Anan?
My friend from skiing class. She has the same boots as me except mine are blue.
I see. Is Anan here as well?
No, she went—she went on another one.
Another ship?
Yeah. She’s gonna meet me at Khaya.
Khayyam.
Yeah.
Where’s Anan now?
Her ship, they’re at Gan-De. Mom says it’s okay, their ship is just taking a break, and—and then we can meet—then we can meet there.
I hope you can.
Episode 3
The Death-Cold
Rivers Solomon
When Asala landed on Gan-De as a child, so newly thirteen that the tattoos on her cheek marking transition to adolescence still glistened wetly, she’d made a decision. There were two roads before her. One: grief—a longing that would never abate because home never left a person. The second road, the better road: life. It meant abandoning the idea of home altogether as a social construct designed to hold people captive to places and traditions long after it was good to do so.
Asala had remembered Dosli Saktal ef Naktal, “The Wind Is Here and Then It Isn’t,” an epic by the ancient Khwarizmian poet and philosopher Ruxandra Esh. It followed the story of a boy of sixteen who, like all Khwarizmians, lived among a nation of nomads, traipsing the planet in search of coolness, moisture. Always one step ahead of the sun.
His nation, the Ceth, had been ruled for a century by one corrupt family. Fearful of change, people were reluctant to oust them. The boy tried to change their minds, but couldn’t, eventually leading to a fight to the death between him and King Bet. The boy won, but his people wanted nothing to do with him anymore, and he lived out the next few years in exile until he stumbled upon them once again by accident; and in the night he attacked their sleeping quarters with fire. Most perished. The children who didn’t, he took in. The adults who didn’t, he slaughtered. Every year, he and the children returned to the spot, and he would remark, “The wind has blown all that was left of them away.”
Asala hadn’t loved it, struggling with the meter and the ancient language, but it had been the last book that one of the clan mothers had assigned her for her tutorship. When her home mother told her to pack a bag, it was the only book that was out and easy to grab quickly.
Asala didn’t believe in signs now as an adult. But at thirteen, she could see no other reason why, out of all the books, this was the one that had made it all the way with her to Gan-De if it didn’t mean something important. Hypatia was no longer home. Gan-De was. For a time. Everything was always and only for a time.
The wind had blown all that was left of her past away. Hypatia was nothing to her anymore, and as the shuttle bringing them from orbit touched down, Asala unlatched her harness, stood, and took a deep breath the same way she had before that first step onto Gan-De decades and de
cades ago. Hypatia was just another world.
The rucksack she’d packed back on the Altair had fallen out of the storage compartment on the journey from the spaceport to the ground. She picked it up and slung it over her broad shoulders.
“Not exactly Khayyam,” said Niko, whose bag was only still in the compartment because the locking mechanism was stuck. They rammed their shoulder several times hard against the metal hold, and it eventually popped open, dropping their bag onto them. Niko caught it before it could do any damage. At least they’d left most of their gratuitous equipment on the ship. “I’m honestly a little surprised we made it to the ground.”
“As am I,” said Asala, buckling the strap of her rucksack around her waist and tightening it more securely than was comfortable. She’d thank herself later. It was a heavy load, and if the auto-shuttles were any indication, transportation on Hypatia hadn’t improved since she’d left thirty-four years ago. The two of them might have to hoof it from the shuttleport to Almagest. Nine miles if memory served.
“You may now release your harnesses,” said an automated voice as the main doors lifted open on either side of the shuttle. They were in a six-seater, but the other seats were unoccupied.
“You may now stand to retrieve your luggage,” said the voice as Niko and Asala exited. In their wake, thirty seconds later, Asala heard, “You may now exit.”
The Vela: The Complete Season 1 Page 8