by Alex Oliver
"Vasto when I appear male, Mari when I appear female," the XO said with a small smile. "He when I'm he and she when I'm she. I'm still fine-tuning the indeterminate setting."
"I, um..." Yas was fine with that, though he was fairly sure it was an unauthorized use of a standard teleporter. "I presume it's not expected of me?"
Vasto laughed. "Ha, no. Everyone is permitted their own gender expression on this ship as set out in the code of conduct. If you want to be boring and stick with one, you go right ahead. Meanwhile, if you've got all your bits, the Captain wants to see you asap."
Yas took a deep breath and shook off the strange experience. Some of his two-spirit friends at home had made trips to the capital city, where modifying booths were available, both for self-expression, spiritual exploration and for fun. But it hadn't been something he'd personally experienced before and he was pretty sure he didn't want to repeat it.
He smoothed down his hair, currently tightly braided and rolled into a bun at the base of his neck, straightened his rumpled undershirt and dug in his pack for his uniform jacket. Then he followed Lt. Vasto out of the door into the large ship's corridors.
Raggy seemed to have ample living space. Perhaps she'd had more of a crew, originally. Now her wide corridors were showing dirty bands of hand-prints. An institutional smell of sweat and dirty socks permeated the air.
He followed Vasto through the bridge, noting the pilot's station, and the observation and sensor array desk which was destined for him. Not too bad, at a cursory glimpse. He could make something of it.
On the other side of the bridge they came out into an area of larger cabins. A door opened as they passed and a robed figure hesitated on the threshold.
It was, perhaps, a woman, her face tattooed with symbols of justice and the mind. He didn't get more than a quick glimpse, because Vasto hurried him past, but her eyes almost seemed to glow. A dark hood pulled over her head cast shadows on her pierced cheekbones, and her body was altogether swathed in midnight blue robes, but her hands were covered in inked symbols, and she held a long metal staff in one hand.
"An inquisitor?" he asked, astonished. The inquisitors were the highly regarded, but somewhat frightening corps responsible for handling high-level negotiations. They were known to have psychic abilities and feared for the secrets they could scrape from a person's head without even trying. It was rumored that they had other more terrifying abilities. But he had never expected to see one - they were for meetings of civilizations, for treaties between sovereign nations, for Queens and Emperors. Not for the likes of Raggy with her ancient systems and stained paint-job.
"Hey," Vasto shrugged. "We didn't know what we'd find when we set out. We've been mapping in between the gates for the last ten years. Places where no one had gone before, because it just took too damn long. There could have been anything there—whole new civilizations who needed a negotiator. We came prepared.”
The inquisitor paused as they went by but did not raise her head, and when Yas looked back she had retreated into her room and closed the door. Odd, he thought, and a little sinister too.
Vasto was now knocking outside a closed door further along the corridor. There was a control panel in the wall, but it was displaying no lights, and as Vasto knocked the panel wobbled, obviously disconnected. Yas brushed himself down again and worried. Fleetingly he wished that he had watched the documentaries and the feeds after all. If he had, he might already know these people - might have a better idea how to act. His snobbery had really shot him in the foot.
Still, this strange eccentric crew were tolerated by their captain, so there was no reason why he would not also tolerate Yas. But this was the first time in his life he would ever present himself to his first captain, and he wanted to do it right.
"Come," someone shouted from inside.
Vasto got his fingers around the door and hauled it open manually. Yas followed him inside.
He had expected an office, but it was a bedroom, with a crash couch, a larger viewscreen than his own - broken in a series of jagged cracks - a pile of laundry in one corner and a desk at which a paunchy middle aged man sat, his hand around a tumbler of what looked like whiskey.
Yas's spirits sank yet lower, as he wondered if he still had time to beam back to the asteroid and gate home. He saluted. "Sir. Sub-lieutenant Yas Sundeen reporting for duty."
"I'm the Captain," said the man, pushing his fingers into the curls of his dark brown hair. He had a look of an old movie star now gone to seed. But there were purple bags of sleeplessness under his eyes, his jowls had thickened and his undershirt was stained around the neck.
The most startling thing, though, was the small lenses set on either side of his eyes. Implanted cameras. Where he looked, the cameras looked.
Yas was suddenly conscious that when the Ragnarok had set out, named as she was after the end of the known world, the expectation was that everything new they found would be marvelous, and that people would pay a premium to discover these wonders at the same time as those who were physically on the spot.
There had been a live feed of what the Captain saw. There still was, presumably, if the documentaries were still being aired. Being stared at by all the notional watchers who were supposed to be riding along in the Captain's head gave Yas a sense that he himself wasn't real—he was just an actor in a holodrama. But it also made him feel excruciatingly exposed, his every reaction displayed for whoever was at the other end of the feed.
"Captain Harcrow," Yas nodded. "Yes, you're famous."
Jonas Harcrow gave an explosive laugh and downed his liquor. His eyes in their pouches of bruised flesh were alight with cynicism.
"They see everything I see," he agreed. "That means the whole galaxy is watching you right now. You happy with that, Sundeen?"
No, Yas thought, with a sudden visceral disgust. No, he wasn't. He wanted to get away, where he wouldn't be faced with a thousand anonymous onlookers behind the red lenses beside Harcrow's eyes. But it was his duty to stand there and look keen, so damn well he would do that.
"Yes, sir. I understand that we are a scientific mission and every new thing must be documented. I'm proud to be aboard."
"They can see you lying," Harcrow growled. "So can I. But no matter, we've got ten years together. You'll have the newness rubbed off you long before we get back."
"Yes sir," Yas agreed, for the sake of saying something. A sliver of contempt unfurled under his breastbone. If he had been captain of any ship, the galaxy wouldn't have caught him sitting in a dirty bedroom, wearing dirty linen, day drinking to drown his sorrows. He had sorrows enough, but he was still trying to do his best.
"Alright then. Off you go."
'Off you go?!' Yas repeated to himself in incredulity. Clearly this was the fount from which the crew drew their 'no worries' attitude. Unprofessional and embarrassing.
The whole galaxy was watching Harcrow like this. How was he not ashamed?
"So," Lt. Vasto said, ushering Yas out and grinding the door shut behind him. "Mission doesn't start again until we burn engines away from this rock. That'll be at oh five hundred tomorrow and you'll be expected to man the sensor desk for it. In the mean time, how about I introduce you to everyone else?"
Yas didn't like it being phrased as a question. Lt Vasto was his superior officer. He should have the decency to give orders. But he said "Yes, sir," as though it was, and hoped that some of his polish might rub itself off on this rumpled crew.
"Okay then. We'll go down to hydroponics. No hitting on Lt. Yueh, alright. She's my girlfriend."
"Fraternization is--"
Vasto shrugged. "Not officially allowed, but look, we've been shut in here years with no one outside the ship. Things are going to happen and they might as well be things everyone's happy with. Tell me I'm right."
"Um..." Yas couldn't see why 'things' had to happen, but he could see that it might not be a good idea to say so. "Is the captain alright with that?"
"You saw him," Vasto led
him to the ship's spine elevator. Here the door panels seemed to have been maintained, and the lift itself arrived promptly. "He's alright with anything that doesn't call for him to make a decision. He was a stickler in the old days, but..." he sighed. "Not so much any more."
They drove on by engineering, where Keva had presumably holed up, and out into the recreation and life sciences deck of the ship. When the elevator doors opened here, the quality of the air on his face felt fresher. He emerged into a tiny paradise, where crops were growing in raised beds under the glow of thousands of tiny full-spectrum lights. He recognized the trailers of beans, and peas climbing up the wall, the nodding flowers of raspberries and pumpkins like orange suns. The soil containers themselves were square and irrigated by regular pipes of water, but the vegetation spilled out of the top of the planters and brushed his knuckles as he walked.
"This is--" he began, breathing in deep and feeling unexpected pleasure well up through him.
Then something hit him hard in the eye. Agony exploded through his face as he doubled over, clutching at his face.
"Oh, whoops!" came an alto voice with too much laughter in it. "Sorry, mate. Paintball."
Yas took his hand away, relieved to see that the wetness he had been assuming was blood was actually bright yellow paint. It got into his bruised eye and burned like fire-ants.
"That's Tima Zardari," Vasto commented, steering Yas around the person—they were as dark haired as Yas himself, a caste mark between their brows as if they had been stabbed by a tiny opponent. Their hair was buzz-cut but their nose was pierced, and in baggy coveralls their long, slender figure was not recognizable as any particular gender. "They’re not as ridiculous as you'd think,” Vasto continued. “Zardari is our weapon's specialist and usually to be found alongside..."
An Ocuilin officer dropped from where he had been clinging onto the ceiling like a slow fall of jelly. Once he was constituted once more, he proved to be a dumpy pile of lime-colored goo, who extruded a tendril and waved at Yas, he thought sympathetically.
"That's Desultory," Vasto murmured. "He doesn't technically have a rank because he's seconded from the Ocuilin homeworld directly. The equivalent of our Inquisitor, I think. You know? Someone who can negotiate on their species' behalf. But after five years of dust and comets, we've all learned to lower our expectations some. And there's not going to be more excitement when we leave the galaxy. So we've got to make our own."
"Yeah..." Yas breathed, trying not to sob at the pain in his eye. "Do you have a sick bay? This is burning my face off."
"Oh yes. Come on."
Sick-bay was out of the living area and directly above the engines. Yas could feel their rumble through the floor. The sterile room—the first place on board that had been clean—was at least two degrees warmer than anywhere else.
He thought it was deserted at first, but then a wall-panel slid back and a silvery-white android emerged. Its head was covered with a screen, onto which the face of a middle-aged white man was projected. Obviously computer-generated, the face was just lifelike enough to be strangely horrifying.
"Wow," Yas said, being sucked under the tide of casual irreverence just as he had said he would not. "You're a series 8. I've never seen—"
"Go ahead and remind me that the rest of my siblings have been retired," said the android in a snippy, overly enunciated voice. "I'm sure I would have no emotions whatsoever about such a thing."
"Was that tactless?" Yas wondered, a little miffed at being told off by a machine. "Sorry, I've got paint in my eye."
"And obviously that prevents your brain's empathy regions from working."
Next to Yas, Vasto laughed. The doctor bot removed a vial of liquid from a cabinet and moved closer to grab Yas roughly around the chin and yank him beneath the light. Yas had again that sense of being shoved by something stronger than human, as he had had from Keva. He didn't like it.
"Yeah," he agreed, as the liquid was poured into his eye and then sponged away, taking the stinging with it. "The pain reminds me of your bedside manner."
"'Bedside manner' the doctor agreed, sounding pleased. "Bedside, roadside, manner manners, manners maketh man."
"What?" Yas asked the air generally, rubbing at the remaining bruise and feeling that he had fallen into a madhouse and if he didn't get out soon he would go mad himself.
Perhaps some of this thought showed on his face, because Vasto laughed again and shoved him in the shoulder. "Welcome to the ship."
CHAPTER FIVE
Carried away
Unlike everything else so far, the meal impressed him. The mess hall was cozy, large enough for twice the number of shipmates, but the spare tables were occupied by craft projects and artistic arrangements of objects. The whole crew gathered around a single table and were served plates of home-grown vegetables and fried tofu, accompanied by home-baked bread. The chef was not in evidence, and nobody seemed to expect them to join in, but when Yas attempted to peek through the serving hatch he saw only a basic service bot with six knife tipped arms, and decided not to investigate further.
He dug into the stir-fry with gusto, relishing the fresh food. On Luna, actual vegetables went to the higher-ups, and cadets ate mostly rehydrated noodles and long shelf life cheap rations brought from Earth.
Vasto left the table half way through the meal and returned as an equally chiseled-faced, short haired young woman, who sat down to finish her meal without comment. Mari now, Yas reminded himself. You call her Mari now.
They were even served dessert--a plate of fruit salad with a raspberry sauce and a single short ration of wine which released Yas's inhibitions and made him take the gamble that had been keeping his foot tapping under the table all meal.
"So we're setting off for the absolute unknown in three hours," he opened. "Is anyone else thinking it might be nice to say goodbye? I mean, the gates are within walking distance, and this will be the last time we're able to have synchronous communications with anyone outside the ship for years. Except for the Captain’s feed, of course. So..."
Avril Yueh, who had been describing the raising of the various vegetables in the meal for the past half an hour put her napkin on the table and looked at Yas for the first time. "That is a point," she said. "Captain?"
Captain Harcrow had joined them at the table. With a fresh shirt on and his wild hair brushed, he had initially looked a little better, but Yas noticed that he didn't speak to anyone. He didn't raise his eyes from his bowl, he simply ate listlessly but relentlessly and seemed to find it an unbearable burden to chew.
Now he shrugged. "I guess."
So after the meal Yueh, Mari and Zardari as well as Yas appeared in the teleporter room and donned their spacesuits.
Yas found it hard to breathe. His emotions see-sawed between the absolute certainty that the authorities must have discovered something by now about the disappearance of the Intrepid, and the absolute certainty that it would be bad and he didn't want to know. Somewhere unacknowledged inside his mind was also telling him that there was still time to go back. Still time to get out of this dead-end job with these burnt out people and make something of himself, and that all he needed was a little push—something to make the move for.
There was an oddly celebratory feel as the four of them bounded down the long spiral staircase into the heart of the planetoid. A shore leave feel. Which said something depressing about the kind of delights the rest of the crew had become accustomed to. A trip out to a cave to phone home should not have been a treat.
Inside the cavern, they removed only their helmets. Yas looked regretfully at the two needle-ships on their cradles, imagining where else he could be if he just climbed on board and sent them into the network. He could be at home in less than six hours. Four if he paid for the teleport to Nahasdzáán's surface instead of taking a shuttle.
There was laughter over by the terminal and he turned to see Lt. Mari blowing a kiss to whoever was on the other end of the call. A frustrated fury bubbled up to the
surface of his mind. How dare she be so carefree when his sister was lost?
Was she? Was she still lost?
When the time came, he approached the screen as though it was a hangman's scaffold. It could be good news... but it could be bad.
"Mom." Seeing her face relieved some of the burden he'd been carrying. She wasn't crying now, and some liveliness had returned to her eyes. "It's good news?"
"I'm sorry, son," she cautioned him, "I'm afraid it's no news. Which is good in itself. They've swept the area and confirmed that there is no debris. I hope that means that wherever she is, her ship is intact and her crew are with her. If so, she'll find her way back to us in time. You must believe that too. She is a warrior and capable of looking after herself, just as you are." His mother smiled. "I could not be more proud of you both. To think, from this moment, everything upon which you lay your eye will be something never before seen by mankind. You will be the first. That's something to savor. I love you, son."
Yas was torn between a kind of anguished joy and a deep embarrassment that three other people were hearing this. He ducked his head and smiled. "I love you too mom. And to Dad. But are you sure you don't—"
Need me, was what he was going to say. But he saw her eyes widen and her head whip to one side as something happened off screen that astonished her.
Nahasdzáán's interstellar comms terminals were usually set up out of doors beneath a light transparent cover so people calling home could see the sky of their world and the rolling hills beyond, covered in grazing beasts. Behind his mom, a ceremonial banner snapped and streamed out almost horizontal in a blast that flattened her hair to her face and made her cling to the terminal for support.
Above her—Yas bit the inside of his cheek to stop from crying out—the greenish sky began to boil with golden clouds. Sunbeams burst through the gaps, painting the hillsides in amber. It should have been beautiful but the effect was of searchlights. The clouds belled out and bulged unnaturally.