by Loren Walker
* * *
Another day passed. Sydel didn’t leave her little space, moving through sleep and half-hearted meditations. More conversations wafted through the ventilation system.
“It’s creepy that someone’s living here and we never see her,” she overheard Cohen say. “It’s like there’s a ghost or something.”
It hurt to hear Cohen’s words. She suspected that he was the one who left the water, food and blankets at her door. She disturbed him? Didn’t he understand how heartbroken she was?
“You want to draw her into some deep conversation?” came Phaira’s sharp reply.
“She might understand what we are going through.”
“Right, because we’ve seen such a great history of that.”
Sydel removed her ear from the metal vent. If Cohen saw her as a ghost, she might as well act like one. It was time to learn the danger she faced.
So when they landed again, and siblings left the old ship, Sydel began to explore the Volante.
On the left side of the corridor, the kitchen was cramped and lined with rust, with little in the cupboards other than cups and utensils. She had already braved the lavatory, and she didn’t have the courage to sneak into the cockpit, but she found another storage unit off the common room: the same size as hers but filled with stacks of meal packs. Her heart jumped at the sight of the rifle, tucked behind all the bins. Even Sydel knew that firearms were illegal to the public. They really were criminals.
On the right side were the crew cabins. Sydel stood in the doorways and studied the contents of each. They were all the same, structurally: curved ceilings, lined with ventilation pipes, cracks and rust, but each had a different energy. Renzo’s space was full of half-assembled, slowly-turning mechanisms. Cohen’s room was surprisingly neat and sparse, save for the enormous bed. Phaira’s quarters had the window covered, but Sydel could still see the pile of clothes in the far right corner, and the crooked bed with twisted sheets.
When she wasn’t exploring, Sydel remained in solitude; she ate sparingly, she rested and worked to rebuild her focus, one meditation at a time. Her mind began to clear. She asked Phaira where to bathe and put aside her disgust of the lukewarm water supply and its copper stink. She resumed her practice of braiding and pinning her hair up. And she went through the supplies in the leather satchel again and again, cataloguing what she had, and what she needed.
Finally, the siblings asked her to join them in the common room. They had made a decision.
“You can’t stay with us. I’m sorry; but that’s not going to work,” Phaira apologized. As she spoke, Cohen picked at the hem of his black shirt. Renzo looked down, one boot scuffing at the floor.
Suddenly Renzo thumped his forearms onto the table, startling them all. “Are you sure your people won’t take you back? I know they said three months until the next review, but what would happen if we just punched in their See-See, and apologized and - ”
“The what?” Sydel interrupted. “See-See?”
“Connection Code,” Cohen spoke up, furrowing his brow. “Letter and number combo - so you can talk to people or places? CC. You don’t know?”
Sydel shook her head, confused. She didn’t know what to say.
Renzo sighed. “Well, whatever. What if we just went back there?”
“Nothing,” Sydel said.
“So you can go home?”
Sydel winced. “You misunderstand me. Nothing would happen. When a decision is made to excommunicate, there is no argument. For the next three months, I no longer exist.” She looked at Renzo pointedly. “So you see, I am quite at your mercy.”
“Ugh,” Phaira groaned, putting her face in her hands.
“Phair,” Cohen warned.
“Okay, okay,” Renzo interjected, waving his hands. “You can still find work elsewhere. You’re right; you have a valuable trade skill. Every place needs a healer. So we teach you the basics of society, you find some temporary housing, and you can survive on your own. Right?”
Sydel remained silent, though she knew he was right.
Renzo sighed. “I registered for work at a Vendor Mill. This is as good a time as any to start your education.”