by Alexa Donne
The transport bay was cold and I was early, so I dropped my bag on the ground, fashioning it into a makeshift chair, and sat down to wait. I pulled out my drawing tab and clicked it on, finding my last work in progress staring up at me. George. Or half of him, at least. He was missing his jawline, hair, cheeks; his smile. A fresh wave of grief washed over me. I’d never see his smile again. I imagined I could hear him, calling my name.
“Stella! Stella!”
Wait, that wasn’t in my head. I turned around and there he was—breaking his jog to skid to a stop in front of me, chest heaving. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he said breathlessly.
“You?” I said, rising to my feet. “I searched the whole ship for you yesterday, but you were clearly avoiding me!”
“I . . .” George at least had the good sense to look ashamed. “Yeah, I kind of was. But I didn’t know you were leaving! Destiny told me this morning, who heard it from Joy, who heard it from Karlson. . . . What happened?”
“I got that last job. Totally unexpectedly. And they’re sending a private transport for me, so I couldn’t exactly change the date. I tried to find you. . . .”
“Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” he stopped himself before he could rehash the details, for which I was thankful.
“I know,” I said. “All that matters is you’re still my friend. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too. So much. You don’t even know.” His voice broke on the last bit, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile.
“Are you going to cry, George?” I chided. “I have Earl Grey in my bag, if you need him,” I joked, but my heart was fit to bursting. Mending my friendship with George meant everything.
“Empire orphans forever,” he said with a smile.
I recited it back, feeling the prick of tears behind my eyes. “I’m going to hug you now,” I warned, not bothering to wait for permission. George was stiff at first but soon melted into it, and suddenly we were like we’d been in old times. George and Stella, Empire orphans forever.
The screech of metal and an airlock venting behind us alerted us to the arrival of the transport. George held me tighter. It was like I was home. But home wasn’t forever. Sometimes you had to leave. I knew that in my heart. I broke away, wiping a stray tear with a callused index finger. Crying was no way to start an adventure.
“Write to me,” I said. “Whenever you can. And help the kids send messages too. I promised Arden you’d help.” George nodded, pursing his lips together hard. “Tell me which of those silly girls you choose. For the record, Joy’s my favorite. Team Brunette, all the way.” It was an attempt at levity. I glanced back. The ship had settled, and an attendant emerged, approaching to pick up my bag. Two men scurried to load several food crates; this was clearly a stop with dual missions.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” I made a promise I couldn’t keep, but it seemed to make George feel better. He nodded.
“Bye, Stella. Check your messages tonight. There’ll be one from me.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning to board the shuttle before I could do something rash, like change my mind.
The attendant, it turned out, was also the captain, and the shuttle was tiny. He pointed me toward a seat—it looked comfortable, at least—that was only feet from the food crates, now secured with ropes and netting for the journey. The hatch door shut, I peered out the window, and there was George—he’d changed positions for one last chance to wave goodbye, which he did, and I returned the wave. It was now or never.
“Strap yourself in, then,” the captain said, voice gruff and accented. I couldn’t quite place it.
“Where are you from?” I asked as I took my seat. The chair was indeed comfy—padded better than a bed, and it seemed to recline, too. I could catch a nap if I wanted.
“The Saint Petersburg. You know it?”
“A little,” I said. The Saint Petersburg had held orbit neighboring the Empire, and many aboard specialized in private transports, like this one. An SP transport had taken the Empire orphans to the Stalwart six years ago, too.
“I am Sergei Orlov,” he introduced himself. “You strapped in? Good. We must depart right away while traffic is clear. We’ll talk later.”
He disappeared into the cockpit, hidden past a short, dark corridor. I took a deep breath. In, out. The engine shuddered on with a kick-start that sent my heart racing, the small ship lifting up, hovering. I pictured George on the platform outside, watching us go. I imagined he looked sad.
We started moving, slowly at first—into the airlock, I presumed. Then the engine roared, g-forces pushing me back into my chair until I felt glued to its padded surface. I could see out the adjacent window, barely. Gray turned to black as the ship faded behind us, giving way to the stars. I realized I was gripping the hand rests and willed myself to stop. We zoomed through space, the engine working itself up to a frenzy for a good ten minutes. And then it stopped. The pressure on my body eased. Sergei stepped out from the cockpit, looking very pleased with himself.
“Perfect takeoff. Good momentum for the trip. Here, I have food and water for you.” He tried to hand me a small rucksack—overkill for daily rations, if you asked me.
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” I said. “I brought along my day’s rations, as I figured when we arrive tonight I’ll be fresh out of luck for food and water on the Rochester.” I unclipped my safety belts and moved to go to my bag. “It should tide me over well.”
He scoffed. “We’re not arriving anywhere tonight, let alone the Rochester, my young traveler. And I’ve seen what those aboard the Stalwart get—you’d best take what I’m offering. I promise you these rations are heartier than anything they give you on that death bucket.” He shoved the bag into my lap.
“What do you mean, we’re not arriving tonight?” I asked, trying to contain the alarm in my voice.
“It’ll take two days at least to get to the Rochester. Didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The Rochester is in orbit around the moon.”
Chapter Five
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I thought you said the Rochester was orbiting the moon. But that’s crazy.”
“Nyet, not so crazy. She orbits the moon, I promise. It’s odd, but they are loyal customers and pay me handsomely for my services, so I go. Four to five days, round trip. I make them pay for fuel.” Sergei chuckled to himself and didn’t bother to try to convince me further. He proceeded to make himself a cup of tea.
“Pour me one too,” I said, feeling bold. I made my way to the hatch window and could see the fleet growing smaller behind us. What had I signed up for? “Wh-why would a ship orbit the moon?” I asked, hating the way my voice cracked. Like I was scared.
“That, you can ask them when I deliver you. It’s none of my business why some fancy private ship would do such a crazy thing.” He handed over my tea, the smell making my mouth water. Tea was a rarity on the Stalwart. It smelled heavenly, and the first sip fulfilled the promise of its aroma.
“Shouldn’t you be flying the shuttle?”
“Autopilot. It’ll be a smooth ride. Hope you have something to read.”
I didn’t, but I had my drawing tab. Reluctantly I set down my tea, though only after taking another hearty sip, and retrieved my tab.
“When you are ready to sleep, you let me know. I have a special drink for that. You’ll sleep much better, longer.”
I nodded, waving him away, and turned on my tablet. And there was George again, half-formed eyes twinkling up at me. I swiped it away. Time to draw something new.
I took Sergei up on his sleep aid and awoke who-knew-how-many hours later. A quick look out the window and seeing nothing but space cartwheeling into infinity told me we were far from the fleet, and Earth. The moon had to be close.
“Good morning,” Sergei said as he emerged from the cockpit. “Or evening, r
ather. We will be there soon. We’ve made good time.” He looked me up and down. “Do you wish to change? I can give you some privacy.”
“Oh, no,” I said, looking down at my sad state of affairs. My underclothes had turned pungent. “These are all I have. I’m fine,” I said in a quiet voice.
Sergei tsked under his breath. “At least you’re going to a better place. The Rochester imports the best clothing. I bring it to them. You’ll see.”
I doubted part of my stipend would include clothing, but I nodded at him, hoping he’d drop the subject. Instead, he decided making conversation was the order of the day. “What do you know about the Rochester? Why are you going there?”
“I don’t know much,” I said. Like, you know, that the ship is orbiting the moon. “Only that it’s a small, private ship that needed a teacher. The ad said one pupil, age ten.”
Sergei looked pleased, like he knew a secret he could let me in on. “They say it is haunted. Lots of spooky goings-on on board. I never stay longer than I must.”
“What do you mean, it’s haunted?”
He shrugged. “I’ve heard reports of strange sounds, sabotage, people disappearing. More than a few personnel have left. I have transported them happily away.”
“Can I have another cup of tea?” I needed something to warm the chill that was settling in my bones. Sergei grunted in the affirmative and went to heat some water. I moved back to the window, but the view was the same as before. “How close are we to the moon?” I asked. “Can I see it from the cockpit?”
Sergei eyed me while plucking two tea bags out of a colorful box whose emblem I did not recognize. “If you are very careful, and promise not to touch anything.”
I was enthusiastic and emphatic in my reply, immediately bouncing forward through the cramped galley way and into a gallery of glass and blinking blue screens. The view beyond the front window screens was breathtaking. The moon shone white, its smooth surface mottled dark in a scattershot pattern like a bruised peach. I couldn’t help but compare it to the only other heavenly body I had glimpsed so close; its beauty was mesmerizing, but in a sad, melancholy way. The surface held no life, no swirling cumulus masking the teeming ecosystem below, like Earth. Yet it called to me, a hunk of rock slipping solitarily through the skies.
But she wasn’t alone—I had decided the moon was female—no, just off to her left side, if I squinted, I could see a ship. Or, more accurately, I could see the glint of moonlight refracting off the sleek metal surface of a craft. We’d have to fly closer for me to make out any detail.
“You see her, yes?” Sergei came in behind me, teacups in hand. It seemed he favored the feminine as well, but he was referring to the Rochester. I nodded. “Another few hours, at most; then we will dock.” He handed me my tea and, to my surprise, invited me to sit. With bated breath, I lowered myself into what would have been the First Officer’s chair and got a view of the nose of a ship from a whole new perspective. In the foreground blinked screens scrolling ship data—speed, fuel measures, etc.—and beyond that, the unbroken vista of space.
“I should have been a pilot,” I let out breathlessly.
Sergei smirked into his teacup. “Yes, it is a very good life. But, not always so safe. And very lonely. You’re better off as a teacher, you can trust me.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that being a teacher could be just as lonely as drifting out in space. Sometimes the loneliest you could be was surrounded by people who didn’t understand you.
We docked with the Rochester at three in the morning. Despite my daylong sleep, my internal body clock vehemently protested the late hour; as the ship door lifted open, I found myself yawning. The airlock was small, barely large enough to hold the transport ship, and through the reinforced glass doors at the far end, I could see the shadowy figure of a woman there to greet me. Sergei led the way, not bothering to unload the food crates—he’d already told me he would do it in the morning before he departed—with me trailing behind, dragging my bag along the grated floor in my weary state.
The glass door slid open to reveal the figure, a petite woman in a well-fitted uniform jacket, which tapered into a dress, its formfitting black fabric covering her short legs. Did they not wear wicking underdresses aboard the Rochester? I’d never seen such a fine coat. The woman in it smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with wrinkles of a severity I’d rarely seen.
“Welcome aboard, Stella. I am Officer Xiao, though you may call me Iris.” She offered me a hand, which dutifully I shook, all the while thinking there was no way I’d be so informal as to call her by her first name. Sergei had no such compunction.
“Iris, my old friend,” he greeted her, pulling her into a bruising hug that featured more backslapping than I felt strictly necessary. His choice of adjective was apt—Officer Xiao had to be at least forty. Old by fleet standards, though the judgment was not meant as a slight on her appearance. I found her age made me think her more sophisticated, someone I immediately felt I could trust.
“Sergei, always a pleasure,” Officer Xiao said with genuine warmth and maybe a hint of flirtation. “You know where to find your temporary quarters, and feel free to help yourself to something in the kitchens. This is a late one for you.”
“Made excellent time,” Sergei said before waving us off and disappearing down the shadowy corridor.
“Please forgive the dark conditions,” Officer Xiao said once we were alone, gesturing for me to follow closely behind her as we made our own way. “We were expecting you first thing in the morning. The ship’s lighting systems are on a sleep timer, and it didn’t seem necessary to tamper with them when I could show you to your quarters myself.”
“Dark” was a relative description. The Rochester’s night setting was brighter than Ward Z on its best day; cool blue lighting piped along the floors and ceilings, casting the corridor in an eerie glow. Even in shades of dusky blue, it was apparent that the Rochester was the nicest ship I had ever set foot on. There was not an exposed rivet to be seen, and no brushed-chrome finishing—when I ran my fingers against the wall as we moved briskly into the heart of the ship, I felt only smooth coating and tapered edges. I couldn’t wait to see it with the full complement of lights on.
“Here we are,” Officer Xiao announced as we arrived at a depression in the corridor, which I realized was a door. “I have it key-coded at the moment, but we can reset it with your bio scan tomorrow.” She tapped and swiped at a panel set at chest level by the door, punching in a four-digit number code. The two interlocking panels that comprised the door whished open with near-silent precision, revealing quarters four times the size of mine aboard the Stalwart.
“Welcome home,” she said with a flourish. My mouth hung agape.
“This is all for me?” I stepped carefully over the small rise at the bottom of the hatch, through the doorway, and into the room, which could best be described as pristine.
“Of course it is. We wouldn’t ask you to share. Anyway, we have more rooms than crew on board. Jessa has two rooms dedicated to her use. We thought three might be pushing it.”
“Jessa? Is that my pupil?”
“Yes. You’ll meet her later today. But for now, try to get some rest. Morning lights are on at seven, and breakfast is served at eight. I am up at six, should you need anything. Sleep well, and we are very glad to have you here.” Officer Xiao bent slightly, dipping her head to me in a formal bow. Clumsily, I returned the gesture. Then she left me.
It took me five minutes to find the button that shut the door. Then I was faced with a new problem: standing in the pitch-black with no idea where anything was. There was no blue-piped lighting in here. Fumbling in the dark from memory, I unzipped my bag and found my tablet, using its meager illumination to search the room. There was no light switch.
I closed my eyes, breathing heavily, inhaling and exhaling to the same rhythm as the low hum of the ship’s machinery. Willing myself to calm. To think. This was a ship, no
t unlike the other three ships I’d been on in my life. They couldn’t be too dissimilar.
A sound, high-pitched and bloodcurdling, jolted me out of my Zen moment. It was like a laugh. But that couldn’t be. I was spooking myself in the dark.
“How do I turn the lights on?” I mumbled to myself, then jumped again as the lights flicked to life, like magic. Maybe Sergei was onto something, and this ship was haunted. Or maybe . . .
“Lights off,” I tried, and, voilà, they were off. Voice-activated asset control, like aboard the Empire. Only in my aunt Reed’s quarters, none of us children had our voices authorized by the control system, so only she could use them. “Lights on,” I said one more time, convincing myself I’d entirely imagined that eerie laugh.
I investigated the bed, which was three times the size of my old one, testing a hand on it and finding it firm but springy, the charcoal-colored sheets soft instead of slick. On the Stalwart, everything was designed to wick moisture and require less-frequent washing. I considered for a moment that I shouldn’t lie down on the covers in my filthy clothes, but a childish giddiness bubbled up inside me, overpowering my practical side, and I flung myself backwards onto the pillowed surface. Bliss.
I lifted my head to survey the room from this angle, then cocked it to the side, curious. There appeared to be another hatch door directly across from me. I got up, taking two, four, six, eight steps across the room—it was insanely large—and tentatively pressed the square-shaped button I found next to it. Whoosh, the panels parted, and I literally gasped. I had my own bathroom.
At this rate, I should be paying them to live here. This was more luxury than I could handle. Even the Empire wasn’t this well-appointed.
Stepping inside, I waved my hand in front of the sink faucet, and just like the lights, it spouted water like magic. I gazed longingly at the shower, but who knew how water was rationed here, so I didn’t dare use it. Instead, I retreated from the bathroom and set to peeling off as many layers as I could so I could try to get some sleep.