Unknown Horizons

by CJ Birch

  My eyes flick to her bed one last time as we leave. I can’t help myself. She sighs and looks pointedly at me. “What is it about the bed that disturbs you, Ash? Please tell me you’re not one of those OCD types?”

  “I’m just surprised they have your office and private quarters combined as one.” It’s a half truth. I am surprised, I’ve never been inside a captain’s cabin before, but it’s not the reason I find it hard to keep my eyes away from her bed. I keep picturing her lying in it, her black hair splashed across the pillow, wrapped in sleep. It’s a consuming thought.

  She shrugs as she swipes her hand over her door, locking it. “This is a small ship, and we don’t have a lot of room for frivolities.” She leads the way down the corridor. “We’ll start at the bottom and work our way up.”

  On the lower deck, she takes me down a long corridor. It’s darker than the others. At the end is a single door. She stops at a panel. “This is kind of cool, actually,” she says and taps in a passcode. When the door opens, we’re standing in a small antechamber, and in the middle is a ladder leading down. She grabs the top rung and descends. I follow a second later, and when I get to the bottom, my breath catches in my throat. Running the circumference of the ship is a track surrounded by windows that look out into space. Right now, we’re still docked at Alpha Station, so there’s not much to see, but I can imagine the effect once we’re in space.

  It will be like running among the stars.

  “Cool, huh?” she says as we walk out on the track. I bend down and run my hands along the surface. It feels just like the Tartan Track at Basic Training, rough and soft all at the same time, and when I push down it yields to my touch.

  I can’t decide if I’m about to laugh or cry as I stand. All I know is that I’ll be spending a lot of time here. “I thought the Persephone didn’t do frivolities.”

  She scowls in mock seriousness. “Exercise is not a frivolity, Ash, it’s a necessity.” I wish she’d tell her lower ranks that.

  I stroll to the edge to stare out the window at the city buried below the hard thick dome. Lights glow, exaggerated through the shield. This is the last time I will ever see it. I’m barely paying attention, too absorbed in the excitement of leaving.

  “Do you have family you’re leaving behind?” She dips her head toward the belt splashed before us. I don’t say anything, just nod. “Can I ask why you signed up for this mission?”

  It’s a good question, and I want to answer her honestly because I know she won’t take the answer I gave the Union leaders. Or even the answer I gave my father. I can still see the hurt in his eyes when I told him I was applying for the mission. A twinge of guilt invades my happy mood for just a second as I realize that he’s the last one. With me gone, he has no one left.

  Staying here just feels like failure. Even though I’ll never live to see it, I want my grandkids to. I need to believe that one day they will be able to turn their heads toward the sun and soak in its warmth, not through ten feet of metallic glass, but with nothing more between them than the atmosphere and a layer of ozone.

  I would be lying, though, if I said this was my only reason. My real reason is much more selfish.

  For once in my life, I want to have something that’s mine. Just mine. The farther we get from the Milky Way, the less my family’s name means anything. Each year we travel, each kilometer, light-year, every sector of unchartered territory gives me back my life. Never again will I have to sit across from my father, his imposing desk between us, and hear how a particular choice or decision of mine will affect his name, our family’s name, some stupid legacy that shouldn’t even matter. Even though I changed my name before entering the academy, very few people don’t know whose daughter I am. It’s like being stuck under a rock, the weight of it slowly crushing me.

  Out here I’m free. Now that I can feel freedom humming through my body, it’s like a drug I never want to kick. I want the high to last the rest of my life. And the irony is, all I had to do to get it was leave everyone I love behind.

  Captain Kellow watches a supply train weaving through the stockyards. Somehow I don’t think she’d understand.

  Instead, I give her a small portion of the truth. “I need to know the human species will move forward. If I stay here, I’ll never know.”

  “You have faith we’ll make it to Kepler 980f?”

  I cringe at the assigned name of our destination, a planet so far away it might not be the paradise we’ve made it out to be.

  Below us in another dock, a small frigate pulls away, preparing to launch. “I have faith our descendants will.” The frigate unfurls its front sails for matter collection. Probably on its way to Europa. Since the attack, most ships are headed there to help with repairs.

  “A lot can happen in a hundred years.”

  “And won’t it be exciting?” I twist my fingers together, cracking my knuckles. Tiny sparks of excitement ignite within me, and I feel like I’m five, waiting for Christmas morning to arrive. As much as I’ll miss certain aspects—my father, the familiar constellations and planets—I know I won’t miss them enough to stay behind. I’d rather spend the rest of my life on a generational ship speeding into the unknown.

  Chapter Two

  I stand in front of the mirror in my cabin, assessing my formal wear. There’s a welcome reception tonight for Hartley and me, and I hate receptions. I suck at small talk and always feel awkward eating off tiny plates. Still, I’ve made an effort, ditching the traditional dress uniform for a simple backless green dress, cut just above the knees. It shows a hint of cleavage, but not enough to be inappropriate. My hair hangs loose, tickling my back and shoulders. I fasten my necklace, a single black pearl—well, fake pearl—strung by a barely-there chain. It’s the only piece of jewelry I own, given to me by my father when I graduated from the academy. He was so proud I’d joined the Union fleet. Personally, I think he was more excited about the leverage he could use in the Commons with a daughter in the service. Maybe that’s unfair, but he’s always saying you have to find your edge, especially if it’s personal. I’ll never have to endure one of his for-your-own-good lectures again, and I’m not sure if that saddens me.

  I’ve timed it so I arrive twenty minutes late; the less chitchat I have to endure before they call us to dinner, the better. I stand outside the officers’ mess and press the panel on my right, and the door slips open. I spot Hartley first, in the corner by the window surrounded by a bunch of engineer geeks. Since he’s the only person I’ve met besides the captain, I head his way, and he waves as soon as he sees me. The mess is crowded with officers, and with a few crew members bellowing, the excitement is palpable.

  Hartley takes my hand and lifts it away from my body to get a better look at my dress. “You look fantastic in that. I was worried you might show up in dress uniform.” He pairs his somewhat inappropriate compliment with a face-stretching grin and stuffs a cheese ball in his mouth. If he were Union fleet, it would be wholly inappropriate to speak to a superior officer like that. But Hartley is part of the civilian group included in the mission to fill any knowledge gaps. Only the two Union ships and the Posterus crew are Union, the rest are civilians. But Hartley’s the only one assigned to our ship.

  Ben Hartley has no filter between his brain and mouth. It’s the first thing I noticed when I met him at the air dock. He arrived earlier this afternoon with two giant containers, one of which contains the engine core for the Posterus, the other with who knows what.

  “Would you like to see the engine room or your cabin first?” I asked, shaking his hand.

  He grinned wide. “How ’bout your cabin?” He’s tall and lanky, pure geek, his confidence doesn’t match his looks. I could have made as if I was offended, but I’ve always hated the sort who can’t take a joke or poorly placed compliment.

  “It’s not that big. I don’t think there’d be room for your ego.”

  His laugh, also incongruous, boomed out of his skinny chest, quick and thunderous. “I think we�
��re going to get along just fine, Lieutenant.”

  He hands me a champagne flute and stands on his toes, peering over my head. “The heels are a little high, though.”

  It’s entertaining to see that he’s still just as cheeky at the reception as he was when I first met him.

  “You might want to tone those down,” he continues and nods to the men surrounding him, none of whom are as tall or brazen. Only one looks shocked, and the rest are in awe, hanging off his every word as if he were a god.

  I’ve read his file and a few of his papers, so I know that his confidence and this godlike reverence comes from his being the leading mind in nuclear fusion propulsion. He’s the reason it will only take one hundred years to get to Kepler 980f instead of five hundred. He’s not the only one working on it, but he’s the one who solved the containment issue, and all the other problems seemed to fall into place after that.

  Uncouth as he is, I decide I like him.

  And to prove my point, he slaps my back and points to the others. “Holy crap, where are my manners? Guys, this is Lieutenant Ali Ash, our new first officer. Ash, these are the guys on my team. Well, I guess they’re my team now that I’m here. But you know what I mean, these are the engineers on board.” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet by this time, barreling through each word so fast I find it hard to keep up. “They’re going to help me install the fusion core when we get to the Posterus.”

  I shake each man’s hand in turn, trying to remember their names, about to ask if there are any women on the team when Hartley raises his glass to make a toast. I look down at the champagne that I realize I shouldn’t have and look for a place to set it without appearing rude. Everyone drinks but me.

  Hartley makes a sipping motion with his empty glass. “Aren’t you going to join us, Lieutenant?”

  “She can’t,” says a voice close to my ear, and I turn to see Captain Kellow standing beside me. “She’s watch staff, which means no alcohol.”

  Like me, she’s opted for civilian formal, and even though her dark blue dress leaves everything to the imagination, it’s still gorgeous. Everything about her is a series of contrasts. Sable hair against pale shoulders. Indigo eyes and red lips against her cream-colored complexion.

  “I didn’t even think about it when it was handed to me, Captain,” I stammer. Jesus, I sound like a defensive third-grader.

  She takes it from me and hands it to Fukui, one of the engine geeks next to Hartley. “You look like you’re behind, Fukui.”

  Next to the lanky engineer, Fukui looks like one of those anime dolls I’ve seen among scavengers. All his features appear too tiny for his head, as if they’ve been squished into the center of his round face.

  Kellow has that hint of a smile on her lips, and I can’t tell if she’s amused by my embarrassment or the situation in general.

  Hartley slaps Fukui on the back and yells, “Drink up!”

  A canapé drops from his small plate, and I bend to pick it up—I don’t know why—and when I stand, Hartley is staring at my cleavage. It takes him a few moments before his eyes rise to mine.

  “It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?” the captain asks, lightly touching the sphere at my throat.

  Instinctively, I reach for my pearl, rolling the silky ball between my fingers. “It was a gift from my father—it’s not real,” I add. I don’t want people to think my family is richer than we are. The only real pearls come from Earth, and the only people who can get to those have credits to burn. Pearl hunting, like everything else on Earth, takes time. If you can find anyone brave enough to descend into the atmosphere, they will spend days maybe even weeks searching the dried waterbeds of the oceans. Personally, I’d rather have my fake.

  The dinner chime rings, and like one massive herd everyone pushes toward the other room where they’ve set up two long tables for dinner. The captain takes my elbow and holds me back. “Can I have a word with you, Lieutenant?” I nod.

  She leans in close, and there’s something new mixed in with her already familiar scent of apricots, but I can’t place it. “Find me after dinner. I’d like to get your first impressions of Hartley,” she says.

  All I can do is nod.

  At dinner, talk turns to the Burrs, as it usually does with this many drinks in everyone. Burrs are our version of space pirates. They’re bio-technically enhanced, throwbacks from the resource wars before we left Earth over a hundred years ago.

  Most of us living have never even seen Earth, but the majority of Burrs grew up there. They were recruited into armies for various countries—ones which no longer exist—and enhanced. Humans spent their last days on Earth fighting each other, and who better to do that for them than bio-enhanced soldiers, sold to the highest bidder. Just exactly how the soldiers were enhanced was a closely guarded secret by Ethan Burr, the man who pioneered the technology. All that mattered was that they were fast, and strong, and could fight harder and longer than the enemy. In the end, it came down to money. But doesn’t it always? The winners were the countries that could afford the best troops, the best tech.

  One of the drawbacks of those enhancements, as it turned out, was an extended life span. Burrs living now are over one hundred and twenty years old, but merely look middle-aged. I suspect part of people’s resentment comes from that. But a lot of people also hate them because they aren’t pure human, not really. When more than half your body is created on an assembly line and not by nature, what does that make you?

  After the wars, when they went rogue and began attacking cargo ships and settlements on the belt, the name Burrs, pulled from their creator, just sort of stuck.

  “Lieutenant Ash, is it true you were posted on the Europa Science Station when it was attacked?”

  I nod. “Yes, I was stationed there for five months.” The person who’s asked, a sergeant who works with hydroponics, smiles as if I’ve admitted I shit pearls. I fork another bite of quinoa into my mouth and hope he doesn’t ask anything else. But of course, he does.

  “Gosh, what was it like being so close to a Burr? Were you scared?”

  These are the questions that infuriate me. What do they expect my answer to be? No, I’m used to having terrorists shove guns in my face, I’m used to surviving explosions, used to waking up feeling violated and have no idea why. I mean, of course I was scared, anyone would be. But I’m trained to handle it, and since I’m still alive, I know I worked through the fear. Also, I hate people who use the word gosh, only five-year-olds with speech impediments should use it.

  I finish chewing, preparing my lie. Everyone around the table has stopped talking amongst themselves and is staring at me. Better make it a good one. “I was in the science lab when the first explosion occurred two decks below. When they did storm our deck, I was already out cold. I got thrown back and was impaled by a soldering arm.” I point to my side where I still have a slight scar on my back. The last part is correct; the security cameras were still working until that point. The next part is pure fiction. “What I do remember when I woke up was a lot of smoke and these cold eyes staring at me. And these fingers reaching out to me, but there wasn’t any flesh on them, just metal.” Everyone is silent as if I’ve just finished a ghost story. The sergeant shudders. Why can’t I just say I don’t like talking about it?

  “This is horrible. Why hasn’t the government done anything about it?” says a woman at the end of the table. The room explodes, everyone talking at once.

  “Can’t just let them get away with this—”

  “A menace.”

  “Downright creepy the way they just won’t die—”

  “Thankfully they’re sterile.”

  The noise builds, and each new voice drowns out the last. “Why haven’t they been tracked and put down?”

  “Because they’re human beings.” The group turns to Captain Kellow. Her hands are pressed into the table on either side of her plate as if she’s ready to spring out of her chair. “Not rabid dogs.”

  “Yes, but there
has to be checks and balances,” says Fukui, his face flushed from drink. “We can’t just let them do whatever they want. They’ve attacked vessels, too. Anyone who tries to go near Earth is a target.”

  “I agree that something needs to be done.” Kellow pauses and studies the group in front of her. I can tell she’s mentally editing her next statement. “But what do we become, if not worse monsters? When our preference is extermination? We may not have been the ones to make the decisions that set them on this destructive path, but we’re here now, and how we deal with it dictates the kind of society we become.” She takes a sip of water, and her slight tremor shows she’s restrained half of what she wants to say.

  To my right, I hear a sharp barking laugh and turn to see Hartley, a big grin on his face. “Why does it matter? This isn’t our problem anymore. In another couple of weeks, we’ll have a whole other set of issues to deal with, and lucky for us, that no longer includes the Burrs.”

  There are nods of agreement, and from the corner of my eye, I see the captain has more to say, but instead she flaps her napkin on the table, bringing the discussion to a close.

  Chapter Three

  After dinner, I find the captain in her cabin. She’s discarded her dress for sweats and piled her hair haphazardly on her head. In this light, it shines almost blue. She beckons me in without a word and takes a seat behind her desk. The surface is spotless. None of the previous stacks of items mar the dark glass. It takes every ounce of my self-control, but I manage not to look over at her bed, which I can see through my peripheral vision has been made.

  “What is it about ignorance that breeds fear? Or is it the other way around?” she says, rubbing her forehead.

  I can’t judge her mood. She’s either very tired or, more likely, exasperated. My father used to make a similar gesture right before he was going to chew me out about some indiscretion.