by Joe Vasicek
“When I was your age, maybe. When I still had my father’s starship and there wasn’t a place in the Outworlds where I couldn’t go.”
“Well, that’s where we’re headed, isn’t it?”
Jakob smiled. “That’s right, kid. We certainly are.”
They parted ways, Jeremiah to his starship to get ready for the long voyage ahead. Jakob knew that he should get back to the apartment and help pack the last of their things, but he lingered at the window, staring at the colony ship that meant freedom—not only his, but his family’s as well.
The sound of footsteps made him glance over his shoulder just as his wife approached him. She wore a dark gray dress and a small black jacket, things they’d picked up secondhand like so many of their other clothes. She didn’t look bad in them, though. Perhaps the conciliatory expression on her face had something to do with that.
“Hi,” she said softy, as if it were taboo to speak Deltan publicly on Oriana Station. Perhaps it was.
“Hi.”
She walked up next to him and gazed out the window with a mixture of apprehension and dread. She gripped the handrail so tightly that her knuckles began to turn white. Jakob reached down and covered her hand with his. The contact made her flinch at first, but she soon relaxed.
“So that’s the ship that’s taking us out to the stars.”
“That’s right,” said Jakob. That’s our chance for a fresh start.
For a long time, they stood together in an uneasy silence. With all the heart-wrenching goodbyes as they prepared to leave on the Hope of Oriana, Jakob wasn’t sure what to say. They hadn’t fought over it—yet—but they hadn’t talked much about it either.
Salome sighed. “Mariya isn’t taking the move very well. She spent the better part of the last few hours crying in the bathroom while I finished packing our things.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. She tries to hide it from you, but I can understand how she feels.”
I’m sure you can, Jakob thought to himself. Chances were that his wife didn’t feel that much different.
“Is she angry?” he asked.
“I don’t think so—not yet, anyway. So far, she’s taking it the way she took it when Isaac and Aaron left.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. I think she’s still in shock, but she’s been crying a lot, so she’ll probably be all right eventually. At least, as much as any of us can expect.”
Jakob took a deep breath. “I know it was hard on you—sending Isaac and Aaron out the way I did. There’s nothing in my life that I regret more than that.”
The air between them grew tense, as if it were all that separated two points of enormous charge. Salome looked up at him, and he turned to meet her gaze. Instead of anger and bitterness, however, her eyes were clearer and more honest than he could remember seeing them. It brought him back to the days when they were young, and their children were still unborn.
“Do you mean that?”
“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “If I knew how it would tear you apart—how it would tear us apart—”
She took a deep breath and nodded, looking away. Her eyes shimmered, and she blinked away tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s me who should be sorry,” she said. “I swore I’d never forgive you for that—and for most of the last two years, I didn’t. But if I’d known how close that would come to destroying you …”
He tentatively reached for her hand. She tensed a little, probably from habit, but interspersed her fingers among his and squeezed.
“Is it hard for you?” she asked. “Leaving everything behind like this, I mean.”
“Of course it is,” he said softly. Though probably not as hard as it is for you.
“When you first brought us to this place, I hated you for it, even though I knew you were only doing your best. Everything was your fault, and that was all that I allowed myself to see. Maybe if I’d opened my eyes and let go of my stupid pride, you wouldn’t have had to take Isaac and Aaron from me the way you did.”
Relief flooded over Jakob’s senses, like a balm soothing an old, unhealed wound. Salome’s body relaxed, and he realized that she was experiencing the same thing.
“Do you remember how it was when our family was still young?” he asked. “Back when you were expecting Aaron, and Isaac was just a toddler?”
She smiled. “Do you remember how it was when we were first married? When we were young and naïve and had our whole lives in front of us, like that girl Noemi and the starfaring husband who rescued her?”
“Yes,” Jakob said softly. I do now.
“We were so clueless back then,” she continued. “Young and clueless, but totally in love. At least, I know I was.”
“So was I.”
“Our lives were so happy—full of hope and devoid of regret. Do you think we can ever get back to that? When everything was simpler and nothing stood between us?”
She looked up at him, her skin glowing in the soft light of the reflected stars. He felt as if he had just woken up from a dream, a long and terrible nightmare that was only just coming to an end.
“I’m sorry, Jakob,” she said at last. “I’ve treated you so awfully these past two years—can you ever forgive me for that?”
He turned and ran his fingers through her soft, dark hair. “I already have, dear. I already have.”
They embraced each other tenderly, the way they used to when they were young. A warm feeling of comfort and peace spread through every part of Jakob’s being, turning his muscles to water and making his eyes burn. He clenched his teeth and clung fiercely to his wife, determined to never let her go.
“What about your family?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “It’s going to be hard,” she admitted. “I wish I didn’t have to leave them.”
“So do I. If there was anything I could do to—”
“There’s nothing you could. If we went with them to the Coreward Stars, we’d still be in the same miserable situation we are right here.”
He bit his lip and nodded. “I’m not much good at stationer’s work. Give me a ship, though—even just a sublight hauler—and I’ll more than earn a living wage.”
“I’m sure you will,” she said, smiling. “More importantly, we’ll have a chance to start over—not just with a new home, but with each other.”
“Yes. We certainly will.”
He gazed out at the Hope of Oriana and thought of all the times he’d wished he could escape back out to the stars. Now that it was really happening, it felt less like an escape and more like a return to the life he’d left behind.
“I’ve always wondered something,” Salome mused, her arm wrapped tightly around his waist. “When you left your home and your family to become a star wanderer, was it difficult?”
“Of course,” said Jakob.
“Then why did you do it?”
He thought over the question for a moment. “Well, you know the traditions. It was something that was expected of me—something I always knew I’d do.”
Salome chuckled. “Yeah, but you were never one to do something just because it was expected of you.”
“I suppose not.”
“Then why did you leave everything behind?”
“Because …” His voice drifted off for a moment as he thought of his birth world. It had been so many years since he’d taken to the stars that it was difficult to remember. So much had happened since then—he’d grown from a boy to a man, and married and raised a family. Yes, the last few years had been extraordinarily difficult, but all of that was coming to an end, and the next chapter in his life was just beginning.
“I don’t know,” he answered her. “I guess it wasn’t that I was leaving something, so much as I was finding something else.”
“And your family? Didn’t you ever miss them?”
“Well, yes—but I have my own family now. And if I’d never left my parents, I never would have fo
und you.”
She gazed up at him with her dark, beautiful eyes, and he knew that he’d said the right thing. He held her close, the way he had when they were both young and the stars of the Outworlds still beckoned with the promise of a bright and hopeful future. He looked out across them now, and realized that that promise still held true.
Part VII: Reproach
And in that day seven women shall take hold of one man, saying, We will eat our own bread, and wear our own apparel: only let us be called by thy name, to take away our reproach.
(Isaiah 4:1, KJV)
Chapter 11
Mariya never felt so small as she did when she stared out the fishbowl window of the observation deck of the Hope of Oriana at the endless sea of stars. In deep space, they shone brighter and fiercer than anywhere else. This was the second time that she’d seen them from this perspective, and both times, it hadn’t been by choice.
A strong family shines brighter than all the stars, she thought silently to herself. The old Deltan proverb gave her no comfort, however—not when all of her family except her mother and father were light-years away. Only a few weeks had passed since she’d said her last painful goodbyes, but it felt as if it had been years. Her aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents—the family she’d known and loved since childhood—they were all headed for the Coreward Stars, while the colony mission was taking her deep into the Far Outworlds where she’d probably never see them again. It was still hard for her to believe it, but every time she looked out at the stars, it became a little more real—and a lot more painful.
“Attention passengers,” came the low, gruff voice of the Hope of Oriana’s chief steward over the loudspeakers. “Upshift dinner is now being served. The line will close in ten minutes. If this is your scheduled meal time, please report to the mess right now.”
Mariya rubbed her eyes and sighed. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but her parents would be worried if she didn’t show up. The last thing she wanted was for them to come look for her—or worse, send someone else.
As if in response to her thought, heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She turned and found herself looking at the white-bearded face of Elijah, the ship’s captain.
“Good upshift,” he said, nodding. “Mariya Varvavli, is it?”
“Yes,” she muttered, turning back to the window. Captain Elijah was likable enough, but she really hoped he hadn’t come to talk with her.
“Beautiful sight, isn’t it?” he said, either oblivious to her melancholy mood or choosing to ignore it. “There’s nothing quite like the sight of the stars to stir the soul.”
“I guess,” said Mariya. The truth was she came down here just because it was one of the few places she could be alone.
“Is something the matter?”
“No, everything’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile.
The captain raised an eyebrow. “Is it really?”
No. But the last thing she wanted was to explain to him why.
“I’ve spoken extensively with your father,” he said, turning to the window with his hands clasped comfortably behind his back. “He’s very worried about you. Ever since we left Oriana Station, he says you’ve been strangely aloof.”
“I’m doing okay,” she said quickly. “It’s just—my parents worry too much.”
“They’re not the only ones. Several of the people on your work shift have mentioned it too.”
Mariya’s arms tensed, and her legs began to grow weak. She drew in a long breath, but said nothing.
“As captain, it’s my responsibility to see to the well-being of every member of this mission. If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”
“There is … one thing,” she said, hesitating for a moment out of fear. “The system we’re going to—Zarmina—how isolated are we going to be once we get there?”
The captain smiled. “Don’t you worry about that, my girl. The Outworlds may be vast, but it’s a small universe outside of the Coreward Stars. It may be a standard year or two before we see anyone, but we won’t be cut off forever.”
A standard year or two. How was that any better?
“For all that time, it will just be us? Alone, on an unsettled world?”
“Alone except for each other. And since there’s more than two hundred of us, I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘alone.’”
Two hundred colonists, but no other Deltans. No other family.
“Is it the feeling that you’ve been uprooted that bothers you?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Your father told me about your family’s experience leaving Delta Oriana. It’s hard, being a refugee.”
You have no idea, Mariya wanted to say. Instead, she forced a smile.
“I’ll be fine, Captain,” she managed to say. “I’ve left my home for the stars before.”
“Yes, of course. And if it’s any consolation, so have I. This isn’t the first colony mission I’ve been on, so don’t worry.”
“I won’t,” she lied. “Now, I’d better get upstairs before mess is over.”
“Very well. If there’s ever anything else you want to talk about, feel free to come see me in my quarters. I promise to keep it confidential.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said hastily as she climbed the narrow stairwell to the main deck. Not that she’d ever take him up on that. After all, she doubted there was anything he could do to help her. Had she left her home before? Yes, but not her family—never her family. Now, they were gone, and she didn’t think she’d ever see them again.
A strong family shines brighter than all the stars. Not like hers—that was for sure.
* * * * *
Mariya was the last one to get her food. The synthmeal and beans looked thoroughly unappetizing, but she served herself some anyway just to keep everyone from worrying about her. The last thing she wanted was for someone to confront her like the captain had.
“Hi there!” came a young man’s voice from behind as she scanned the room for her parents. She didn’t recognize him, but from his clothes he must have been one of the guys in engineering.
“Hello,” she said as cheerily as she could manage. The mess hall was the most spacious room on the ship next to the rec hall, which wasn’t saying much. Almost all of the available seats were packed. Three rows of tables and benches branched off on either side of the main aisle, their smooth metal surfaces reflecting the bright overhead lights. The low rumble of mingled conversations was pleasant to her ear, though most of the other passengers were strangers.
“If you’re looking for a place to sit, we can make room for you here.”
The boy scooted aside and patted the open space on the bench next to him. He seemed harmless enough, with tousled blond hair and dimpled cheeks. His friends sat across from him: a lanky, broad-shouldered boy with a face that was kind of cute, and a beefy-looking guy with a thick neck who was probably a couple of years older than the others.
“Thanks,” said Mariya, “but I’m looking for my parents.”
“Hey, aren’t you the Deltan girl?” said the older boy. His upper arms were almost as wide as Mariya’s thighs—muscular, but stout, just like the rest of him. She tensed a little under his gaze.
“Yes, I am.”
“Watch out, James. You know what they say about Deltan girls—don’t get too friendly unless you want lots of children.”
Hot blood rushed to Mariya’s cheeks as the boy and his friend burst out laughing. Heads started turning at the nearby tables, and she walked off as quickly as her shaking legs would allow her.
“Ash, you jerk! Why’d you have to go chase her off like that?”
“Hey, I was only teasing. It’s not my fault if …”
She didn’t catch the rest of their conversation. A part of her wanted to run away to some place where she could be alone and cry until she felt better, but with the tray of food in her hands, she knew that was impossible. People were watching, so she took a deep breath and put on as best a face as she could.
<
br /> She found her parents in the far back corner, at a table with a young couple on the other end. They sat next to each other, the height difference more than a little striking. Her mother might be short, but she could still be feisty when she needed to be—a quality that Mariya often envied. Her father, on the other hand, was hard-edged except when it really mattered, probably because of his years spent as a directionless star wanderer. Just Mariya’s luck that she should end up with the weaknesses of both.
“Hello there, Mariya,” said her father. “It’s good of you to join us—we almost thought you wouldn’t.”
“Jakob!”
“Well, it’s true, Salome” he said in Deltan, turning to Mariya’s mother. “Besides, you yourself said—”
“Please don’t fight,” Mariya said heavily, speaking in Deltan for her mother’s benefit. She sighed and sat down across from them, with her back to the rest of the room. At least that way, she didn’t have to keep putting on a face—and since no one else on the ship spoke her native dialect, she didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing them either.
Her mother turned to her and smiled. “We’re worried about you, Mariya. I’ve never seen you this glum before.”
“Yeah,” said her father. “You never were like this at Oriana Station.”
We’re not at Oriana Station anymore, Mariya was tempted to say. Instead, she dipped her spoon in the synthmeal and began to stir it listlessly.
“Do you miss the rest of the family?”
She stopped and stared vacantly at her tray. As usual, her mother had nailed it.
“We’re never going to see them again, are we?”
Her parents glanced at each other. Neither of them spoke for a long time. When they did, her father leaned forward, his hands clasped with his elbows on the table.
“I know how hard it is for you,” he said. “It hasn’t been easy on any of us. But if we’d followed the rest of the family Coreward—”
“I know, I know,” she said, staring off at the view through one of the portholes. “It’s not your fault—I know that.”