An Unkindness of Ghosts

by Rivers Solomon

  The night in question, the night a storyteller might falsely call the beginning, Matilda percussed. Aster couldn’t shut away the ship’s metallic effervescence as she traveled back to her quarters from the Bowels, so instead she fed off the resultant overstimulation. There were worse things than being a motherless child. Without a past, Aster was boundless. She could metamorphose. She could be a shiny, magnificent version of herself.

  She’d had a chance to read through the books Seamus had given her, and though she couldn’t understand every detail in the marginalia notes, she understood enough. That was all one could do with the past—be satisfied with half-answers, take the rest on faith. Combined with the notes Aster had absorbed from the Shuttle Bay and Lune’s journals, the astromatics began to make vague sense, as did what her mother was trying to do in her last days. She wanted to set Matilda on a different path. Aster recalled the passage that had stymied her so much when she first read it:

  After using the lavatory, I see the H deck guard in front of me. I stare into his dark pupils, unafraid. I will not run from him, nor will I indulge his protective instincts by seeking to move past him. So what if he apprehends me? Pushes me backward? All he has done is saved me a bit of time on my journey, so I might be returned to my quarters more quickly.

  After night headcount, Aster lit a candle and stood at the center of the cabin. Knowing no other way to put it, she said, “I’m going to save us all.” Pippi, Mabel, and Giselle all turned to her at once. Vivian, of course, was absent, having moved after Aster broke her nose.

  Aster made eye contact with each of her bunkmates to assure them she had very much meant to say aloud what she did. She was not going mad. She’d already gone mad and had remained that way ever after.

  “Save us from what?” asked Mabel.

  “What are you on about?” asked Pippi.

  Aster held tightly to a book called Space Compression and Relativity: Methodologies. “My mother had a way off the ship,” Aster said.

  Giselle slid onto the floor with her blankets. “You figured it out?” she asked. It had been days since she’d said so many words or expressed as much interest.

  “Not all the way,” Aster admitted, “but I am close. I need you all. Ghosts talk in riddles and metaphors. Those have never been my strong suit.”

  “Well, that’s the truth,” said Pippi.

  Mabel put on her glasses and lit more candles. She placed a pipe under the handwheel to keep out guards doing night raids. “What are you and Giselle even talking about?” she asked.

  Aster began, rather arbitrarily, because all beginnings are arbitrary, with the blackouts twenty-five years ago. “During her work investigation on Baby, she discovered a Shuttle Bay and the controls to Matilda’s navigation systems.”

  “The Gods navigate Matilda,” said Pippi.

  “In a fashion, yes. Computing consoles run on an autopiloting program. The ship is moving constantly forward, and when the system detects an obstruction, it diverts itself. That diversion is what causes the blackouts. She’s a big ship. She’s got a lot of momentum. It takes a lot of energy to change her course. She gets that energy from Baby.”

  “So twenty-five years ago, there was an obstacle?” said Pippi.

  “Yes. Something called an anomaly in the Heavens, best described as a bottomless pit pulling everything in its reach inescapably toward it. In my studies, I have seen it referred to as a black hole, God’s throat, well of despair, gravitational nexus, camera obscura.” In Lune’s notebooks as his dark pupils.

  “Sounds like something best avoided,” said Mabel.

  “That’s what the automatic piloting system concluded. My mother, however, disagreed.”

  “She wanted to send us into the bottomless pit?” asked Pippi. “She was mad as you.”

  Aster shook her head. “Look,” she said, flipping open the astromatics textbook to the passage she’d marked, long ago highlighted by Lune. “Though less relevant in contemporary astronautical design, which tends to be based on space compression and use of distortion fields,” Aster read aloud, “we’d be remiss to skip the topic of gravitational propulsion altogether. Travel at relativistic speeds obsoletes the need to use a planet’s gravity to accelerate vessels traveling the Heavens, but every engineer should be familiar with the calculations involved in this area of orbital mechanics. There are rare moments when gravitational propulsion and space compression can be used in tandem.”

  Pippi groaned, but Giselle and Mabel listened raptly.

  “I am not sure if I know how to explain except to say that my mother wished to navigate Matilda around the anomaly. The autopilot sought to avoid it completely, but she wanted to get the ship closer to it so it would be pulled into its orbit and reverse direction as it spun around it.”

  Giselle pushed her short bangs back off her face and spoke quietly: “The H deck guard, pushing her back.”

  “Exactly,” said Aster.

  “Back to what?” Mabel asked.

  “The Great Lifehouse,” said Aster and Giselle in unison.

  “But why would she do that? I don’t understand. What’s the point? So we can fly for three centuries backward? And for what? So that when Matilda finally stops, we’re on the doorstep of a dead planet?”

  “Mabel’s right,” said Pippi. Losing interest, she crawled back into bed.

  “Ain’t y’all even listening?” Giselle said. “Mabel, I don’t have half your book smarts, but I heard the word accelerate in that thing Aster read. That means go faster, yeah? Lune whipped us round and sped us up.” Aster wouldn’t have used those exact words, but Giselle was right. Lune used the gravity of the black hole to propel Matilda faster.

  “So you’re finally talking. I guess you feel better now,” Pippi said.

  “Giselle is correct,” said Aster. “From what I can understand of her mathematics, Lune believed she could reduce the journey so that it was much shorter than our initial three hundred–odd years—a single year.”

  “Seems your mother is about as good at math as me then,” said Giselle.

  Aster snorted. “I do believe that was a joke. It’s good to see you make them again.”

  Giselle shrugged. “Don’t be fooled. I’m far from cured.”

  “Still. It is good,” said Aster. “It’s pained me to see you in such agony.”

  “Aster, are you trying to have a heart-to-heart?” asked Pippi. This land of feelings and tender moments was the sort of thing at which Pippi excelled. At the very mention of emotions, her indifference became enthusiasm. “I’m glad that you’re opening up,” she added, taking on a lofty air. It was as if she’d somehow stopped time, brushed her baby hairs down with fresh grease, changed into a clean frock, and smeared rouge onto her cheeks, restarting time only when she was about to take her rightful place as queen of cabin Q-10010.

  “So if her math was wrong and it didn’t take one year, how long?” asked Mabel, but then she answered her own question: “Twenty-five years. Of course.”

  Aster went to take a seat on her cot. “I don’t know for sure, but I think the autonavigation system is slowing the ship down as we approach the Great Lifehouse, preparing Matilda for orbit.” She had remembered Ainy’s explanation of motion with the ball. If you set it to rolling, it took an outside force to change its direction. That was what had happened twenty-five years ago when Matilda sought to avoid the black hole.

  Objects also required an outside force to slow down. As Matilda approached the Great Lifehouse, she drew on energy from Baby to set her brakes. Aster had figured this out without help from Lune’s notes. Sovereign Nicolaeus helped her make the connection.

  Every sovereign had been exposed to siluminium, by way of the private glass observatory Giselle had described in his chambers, but something about the start of the blackouts made it worse for Nicolaeus. Aster believed it was the ship slowing down. The siluminium underwent a special reaction to allow Matilda to travel at velocities approaching light-speed, and that reaction stopped w
hen the ship had to come to a halt. Whatever the change, it had been disastrous for Nicolaeus, making the siluminium unstable in his body.

  Alternatively, the pulsing electromagnets that activated the blackouts and helped slow the ship might have affected the siluminium. Aster had nursed a number of theories, but what was most important was that Lune’s connection to Nicolaeus was incidental. She was thankful this small link had set her on the path to discovery, but the two had been exposed to the liquid independently. It was unlikely the siluminium caused Lune’s death, and Aster still didn’t know where her mother had gone and why—and if she died, of what.

  “So slamming the brakes caused this wave of blackouts,” said Mabel. She’d begun scribbling notes into her journal.

  “As far as I know, we are the only ones who know about this. We have to act now that we have this unique tactical advantage.”

  “What do you need us to do?” Mabel asked.

  “Giselle, are you well enough to leave the cabin?”

  “Possibly. I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

  “What if it involves getting your rifle back for a short time?” said Aster.

  “Then definitely. I am ready,” Giselle replied, perking up.

  Aster remembered the resourcefulness of the Tide Wingers, their magical starjars made with difficult-to-come-by materials. She asked Giselle if she could bring them the rifle and request they fashion more bullets for it. “They’ll need the gun, though, so they can see how to make them.”

  “I can do it,” Giselle said. She seemed happy to give up possession of the rifle if it went into making more of its juju.

  “What are you planning exactly?” Pippi asked.

  “I want to be prepared. I want us to be able to defend ourselves. I want you to be able to defend Mabel,” said Aster, knowing this would convince Pippi it was the right course of action.

  “I can defend her. I will defend her.” Pippi scooted closer to her love.

  “I need something from you too, Mabel,” said Aster.

  “Anything. I’d rather return to a dead planet than spend another day under Sovereign Lieutenant.”

  Lune had made the same wager. Though three hundred years had passed on Matilda, considering the relativistic speeds, more than one thousand years had passed on the Great Lifehouse. Maybe life had started anew there after whatever disaster had reduced it to ruins.

  “Spread the news,” Aster said. “Not everything. I want people to be ready for a change. Do you still know people who can work the loudspeakers?”

  “Aye, of course.”

  “Good. Here is what we need to do.” Aster doled out instructions. There was still much to put in order, but they were on their way.

  xxiv

  The hand-pie Aster bought smelled promising, but once unwrapped, it lost any and all appeal. She took a bite and found the crust dry and crumbly, the meat gamey, flavorless. After a second and third bite, no improvement. Suppressing a disgusted shiver, she lay the barely eaten morsel on a piece of foil, thought longingly of Quarry Wing’s kitchen. Tuesdays, before the new diet restrictions, Melusine boiled plantains, stirred the starchy flesh with salt, scallions, cilantro, onion, bits of pork skin, scooped the mixture into pancake-sized patties, and fried them. Pippi said the dish was too rich, too meaty, and too salty, but plantain dumpling was one of the few foods Aster enjoyed without caveats. For all G deck’s loveliness, there was a distinct lack of good cooking.

  Aster removed a pen from her belt and uncapped it, drew squiggles in an empty notebook. Working with Theo again had many benefits, but the abundance of clean paper made it most worthwhile. Flipping to a new page, she composed a color-coded to-do list, red ink corresponding to tasks of utmost importance, blue ink corresponding to tasks of midlevel importance, and green ink corresponding to tasks she wanted to do, but couldn’t until she’d completed the red and blue tasks. She needed to ask Seamus if he still knew how to operate the launch pad.

  “What language are you writing in?” Theo asked, moving up behind her so that he could peer over her shoulder. His shadow obscured her writing.

  “Q,” said Aster, realizing, quite suddenly, that this was not a proper name for a language.

  “You invented a personal alphabet then?”

  “It’s the standard alphabet,” Aster said, comparing the letters in her notebook to those of the documents spread over the desk. She supposed her print differed significantly from theirs.

  “And you’re able to read that?” Theo asked.

  Aster knew that her messy scrawl wouldn’t win any handwriting awards, but then she hadn’t submitted it to a handwriting contest, had she? She didn’t care. “I can’t read it at all, but writing it down helps me remember. I usually recall what I’ve written before I even try to make sense of the letters.”

  “You’ve taken notes for me that look much better than that,” he said.

  Aster lifted her shoulders up then let them fall. She was fond of words, but Theo should know by now they didn’t come easily to her. “I suppose when I am writing something for you I put in more considerable effort, but it’s exhausting and extremely slow going. When I write for myself, I don’t bother.”

  “You’ve never told me this before. Had you, I would’ve done something about it.”

  “I have learned how to hide my weaknesses well.” That was the secret to surviving.

  “Give me a moment,” said Theo, but instead of going into his exam room, he opened the main hatch and entered Goosefoot Wing. A second passed, then another. It made her nervous being here without him. She was playing Aston, but it wouldn’t fool anyone who knew her face well, certainly not Lieutenant.

  When Theo returned, Aster was about finished with her to-do list. Theo carried a large black case. The leather was grayed and worn in places, bits of skin nicked out of it, edges curled up. He sat it in front of her.

  “A black box,” said Aster.

  “A gift,” he countered.

  “You bought it just now?”

  “I retrieved it from my quarters. Open it, please.”

  “I do like gifts.” Aster stood so that she could reach the top of the case. She unsnapped the brassy buckles that were speckled with rust. “A machine,” she said. She ran her fingers along the buttons, punched them, relishing the clicking sounds. It was shiny, freshly oiled, nothing at all like the case. There were no scratches or impurities. Emblazoned across the top was beautiful gold lettering, though Aster was not familiar with the tongue. “A very beautiful machine.”

  “It’s a typewriter,” said Theo. The size of his smile was amusing.

  “You are very giddy. You’d think it was you who’d just been gifted a machine.”

  “A typewriter,” he said, correcting her again.

  “I know what it is. Of course I know what it is. But the fact that it’s a machine interests me more than its particular function. I like machines very much.” Her microscope, pocket watches, radio, radiolabe.

  “I’m giving it to you because your writing is abysmal. I bid you use it.” He gestured to her to-do list.

  “No. I believe you are trying to woo me. Sorry, but I am unwooable.”

  He snorted.

  “Don’t scoff at me. Gifts mean affection. Do they not?”

  “I meant only to make your job easier,” he said. “It’s all set up if you want to try it.”

  Aster poked around, experimenting with the keyboard. She loaded the typewriter with paper and began to write.

  theo lovvs A s T E R with alll his hart.

  The keys were sticky. She removed the paper from the feed, folded it into a plane, and threw it so it glided toward Theo’s desk. Theo scribbled a note on the back of the plane and flew it back to her.

  Theo giveth. Theo taketh way.

  Aster slid a blank sheet of paper into the typewriter and typed another note.

  Theo woud not taketh the machine from one he is trying to wooeth.

  “Aster, our next appointment is in ten minutes,
and it might be nice if when our patient arrives you aren’t throwing paper airplanes.”

  They traded notes like these frequently, but the typewriter added a layer of novelty. It felt nice to engage in mindless fun. Aster didn’t consider herself flirtatious, or one to entertain casual dalliances, but all she could do was kill time until she figured out how to reverse Matilda’s redirect. Theo hadn’t offered any ideas and said the science of it was too much like God’s stuff to even fathom getting involved. He encouraged her to worry about fixing the Sovereignty before fixing Matilda. It was as good a plan as any, and Mabel and Giselle were busy doing their parts.

  She should be back in Quarry Wing helping them, but curiously she was freer in the upperdecks. The guards Lieutenant had watching her didn’t know she was here. She could read Lune’s notebooks without interruption.

  * * *

  When it came time to head home for headcount that night, Aster was not ready. She walked with Theo down the corridor to the steps, but then told him she’d forgotten something in his office—and not to wait up for her, as she had a key and could go retrieve it herself without worry. He nodded assent, though he looked suspicious.

  She hid under the desk, as she knew several women came to clean the place in the after-hours. Upon hearing the hatch snap shut, she emerged from under the desk. Dark, cold, and deserted, Theo’s office resembled a prison at night. The metal walls creaked an accordion yawn. What had hours before been a lobby bustling with middeck gentry was now a tomb. Lemon-scented disinfectant sterilized every surface, and the chemicals skidded uncomfortably down the skin of Aster’s throat.

  Cabin G-1001, and the objects therein, reeked of loneliness. It wasn’t the office she’d longed for after all, but Theo’s company, and he was gone. She tried to think of a course back to Quarry Wing, but couldn’t. The passageways, pipes, chutes, and abandoned corridors that were usually so clear appeared blurry in her mind. She couldn’t recall if the vent in Gully Wing dead-ended or led to a fork—and if there was such a fork, whether the chute down to S deck was on the left side or the right. At this hour, she’d be caught and punished if caught alone in the corridors.