by Alexa Donne
“And why is the new governess bouncing around the ship bay in a spacesuit, trying to kill me? Or save me? I’m a bit unclear.”
“I’m the auxiliary engineer to Lieutenant Poole, who was indisposed,” I continued shakily. He wouldn’t stop staring at me. “Someone tampered with the oxygen, so I was trying to fix it. I turned off the warning sirens—they were very loud. But I didn’t try to kill you.”
“Did you say tampered with?” he asked, insistent, grabbing my wrist with such enthusiasm, it hurt.
“Yes, but I’m not certain. It was probably just an accident,” I fibbed. Something told me that suggesting a sabotage conspiracy, along with tall tales of human laughs in the corridor at night, might cause the captain and Officer Xiao alike to think me unhinged and send me away.
The captain seemed unfazed. He nodded solemnly, released my wrist, and moved on. “I’m going to have to ask you to help me up.”
“Of course,” I said with more composure than I felt as I assisted him and he swung an arm over my shoulder. I’d never touched a boy for so long. Where was I supposed to put my hands? Hip? Back? Oh, no, that was way too close to his—
I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. I supported him to the outer door, into the corridor, the heft of his weight against mine making me slow. I calculated how long it would take us to get to the bridge at this rate—twenty minutes at least. Torture.
But the captain stopped only a minute later, outside the aft elevator. “That should do it,” he said, breaking away from me to lean against the wall. “I’d advise you to go fix the oxygen, and I’ll make my way back on my own.” His tone was resolute; the look he threw me was cool. Like I wasn’t very good at my job, now, was I?
I nodded, willing my racing heart to calm so I could go finish my job. It was a challenge, adrenaline and fear coursing through my veins like fire as I turned, watching the captain retreat, and I headed back in the opposite direction. Once I was strapped back into my spacesuit, tools at the ready, an overwhelming sense of dread replaced my earlier panic. I’d just almost killed the captain of the ship. I was definitely getting fired.
Chapter Eight
Two more hours of trial and error, aided by supplementary materials kindly provided by Rori, and the oxygen issue was fixed. Relief and triumph took a backseat to my sense of dread as I returned to my quarters and changed out of my now-sweat-drenched clothes and into my best dress, the better to be dismissed in. I marched back to the bridge with my head held high, however, determined to face my sanctions like an adult, a professional. But when I reached the bridge, neither the captain nor Xiao was there. Perhaps the former was in the medical bay, finally putting it to good use. But I had expected Xiao to be here, ready to deal with me.
“Oh, hey, Stella,” Orion greeted me from his desk. “Jessa’s been watching a movie, if you want to go down there now.”
I expected a reprimand, but it seemed things were business as usual. I was at a loss. But I wasn’t one to pass up good fortune, so I descended below deck to attend to my pupil. If that axe, indeed, was to still fall on my head later that evening—perhaps the captain was waiting to do it personally—I would face it then. For now, Jessa and I had the fall of the Roman Empire to discuss.
It became immediately apparent at dinner that the status quo was sufficiently more luxe when the captain was on board. I smelled it as soon as I walked in. Meat. I took a deep whiff, searching within my mental catalog. Roast chicken with herbs. Meat was in short supply on the fleet, as farming animals took up more resources than could be justified for wide consumption, so there was just one vessel dedicated to animal farming, and only the richest ships were in the habit of purchasing its limited supply of goods. Even the Empire, one of the nicest ships in the fleet, rarely served meat. I recalled having it only a handful of times in my entire life, and only on holidays like Christmas and Evacuation Day.
“I love it when Hugo’s home!” Jessa squealed, going right for the steaming platter of chicken and forking three slices onto her plate. Though I suspected eating the meat would make me ill in a few hours, I greedily claimed four slices for myself, along with a healthy dollop of mashed potatoes. It smelled so good, my mouth watered.
“Is the captain joining us for dinner?” I asked as we sat down in our usual spots—Orion and Albert facing the door, Jessa and I facing the stars, with a spot next to me where Xiao normally was. But she’d not yet appeared.
“He’s a huge grump and likes to eat alone in his study,” Jessa said between bites of chicken.
“Don’t be rude, Jessa,” Orion scolded halfheartedly.
“But it’s true!”
“Even so . . .”
We devolved into a companionable silence, each of us digging into our chicken like it was the Last Supper. I reminded myself that for me, it still might be. Xiao’s absence was concerning. Was she coordinating my return shuttle? I helped myself to a second serving, just in case.
“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Poole?” Orion asked. “Chicken’s her favorite. Odd she hasn’t come in to steal the rest of the platter.”
“Xiao told me she was sick,” Albert said, stopping me cold, a forkful of chicken poised before my lips. Which was it? Had Lieutenant Poole been on urgent business all day, or was she sick? It occurred to me: the one person aboard this ship with the mechanical knowledge to sabotage the airlock would be the only other engineer on board.
“What’s her story?” I asked, doing my best to keep my tone even.
“She’s been here longer than anyone,” Orion said. “Born on the Rochester—one of the few—grew up on board. Trained by her father the engineer to take over the family business. The usual.”
Her origin sounded no different from hundreds of others I’d known. In fact, it was similar enough to mine, had my parents not died. I’d still be on board the Empire, continuing in the family business of repairing ships. Why would she want to destroy her home, I wondered? I couldn’t dwell on the matter any longer—Officer Xiao finally joined us, looking a bit more harried than usual.
“How is he?” Orion asked, his expression oddly grave.
“As good as can be expected after the long journey,” Xiao replied, making herself a plate and sitting down beside me. “Jessa, he’d like to see you after dinner,” she said, to Jessa’s immediate squeal of delight. “You as well, Stella.”
My heart jumped into my throat. I swallowed down the lump of my nerves. “What for?” I asked. Xiao cast an incredulous look my way.
“He’d like to meet his newest crew member. Why else do you think?”
I was confused and hesitantly hopeful—but kept my feelings close to the vest. “Of course,” I said with a nod. “We’ll go as soon as we finish eating.”
“Give him until half past eight,” Xiao corrected. “He likes to unwind with a glass of spirits after dinner.”
Of course, the Rochester had liquor on board, too. The place was practically a pleasure cruise ship under the captain’s watch.
Once we’d had our fill, I led Jessa back down to her quarters, where I coaxed her into taking a shower, lest she go to greet the captain with chicken grease down her front. She was bouncing, replete with energy despite her full belly, making it a trial getting her dressed. The bodysuit went on after a frustrating five minutes, but when it came to the pretty yellow pinafore I picked out, Jessa wrinkled her nose in distaste and refused to raise her arms over her head to get it on.
“I’m sick of dressing like a baby. If I have to wear a dress, I want one like yours.” She fingered the stiff bodice of my dark gray overdress, which I’d specially picked out for my second meeting with the captain. I liked the high collar, cap sleeves, and the fact that this one actually had pockets, despite not being a work dress. I was comfortable—a must, given that I was about to be very uncomfortable in every other sense of the word—but dressed as formally as my station required.
“These are the clothes that you have, alas,” I
said, nudging her in the shoulder with a pointedly raised eyebrow. With a sigh, she acquiesced, and I pulled her pinafore on. “Mine wouldn’t fit you. And don’t be in a rush to grow up. Frankly, I’d rather wear your pinafore than half the things in my wardrobe.”
With that, I led Jessa up to Deck Two. Just as I realized I had no idea where to go next, Jessa grabbed my hand and nearly dragged me along, stopping before we reached the dining quarters.
“This is it,” she announced. We stood before a door that looked like any other, yet somehow it seemed statelier than the rest. “We have to knock,” Jessa instructed. She deferred to me, so I did. Three short raps. Tentative.
“Enter!” came a muffled bark from the other side, so I hit the button that controlled the door.
The room beyond was decadent. Tapestries that I suspected were of ancient Earth origin covered two of the walls, which were composed of a wood-like finish—a warm brownish red. It was purely cosmetic, given that the entire ship was made of metal, and there was no need for wood anything on board. And I was gobsmacked to find shelves filled with actual paper-and-ink books. I’d beheld them only once in my lifetime, contained under glass at the Empire’s onboard library.
And then there was the captain, who sat in a plush armchair with a book in one hand, a glass of liquor in the other. The lights were set to their dimmest setting without being off. I recognized my fluffy cat friend napping on the rug beside him. As we stepped closer, I got a much better look at the captain now, my senses no longer buzzing with adrenaline, his face no longer drained of color. My initial assessment was correct—he was young, with dark, unruly hair like Jessa’s and features no less striking. She would surely grow into a beauty. He, however, was severe-looking. Bridge of the nose too strong, lips quirked in judgment, thick eyebrows adorning pensive eyes.
“Hugo!” Jessa shrieked, rushing forward to be met in an enthusiastic hug.
“Jessa-Bear,” the captain greeted her warmly. “How have you been? I’ve missed you!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t go away so often and for so long,” Jessa replied with a pout.
“Hmm,” he hummed in response. “Is that you, Miss Ainsley?” He beckoned me forward and didn’t seem angry, so with careful steps, I moved out of the shadows. Would he fire me in front of Jessa? It would be unnecessarily bold. “Jessa, how do you like your new teacher?” he asked.
“I like her,” Jessa said. “We’re learning about the Romans, and reading Shakespeare, and she promised she’d show me some ship mechanics when I’m older!”
“Did she, then?” In the dim light, I saw a single eyebrow perk with interest. Or judgment. I couldn’t tell.
“It was just a thought, sir,” I said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No, no, I think it’s a great idea,” he cut me off. “Jessa could use some hands-on experience. When she’s older.” Captain Fairfax sat back in his chair, patting his knee, to which Jessa responded by eagerly settling herself on his lap. “Have a seat, Miss Ainsley,” he said, “while Jessa and I catch up. You and I can have a proper conversation when bedtime comes.”
“Can’t I stay up late? Since you just got back?” Jessa begged, but to no avail. The captain shook his head no.
“I’m exhausted. We’ll make a long day of it tomorrow instead.” It seemed to appease her, and she settled in to fill him in on the minutiae of the last two months he’d been away.
I sat in a chair made of a smooth material I’d never encountered, busying myself by taking in every inch of the room. First I studied the tableau on the tapestries, knights and unicorns and ladies in fine dresses represented on fading threads of red, gold, and green. Then I spent some time with what had to be a Fairfax family portrait—there was a woman, a man, and two children, a boy and a girl. I saw echoes of Jessa and the captain in the structure of their jaws, the thick dark hair, the blue eyes with cutting expressions.
And finally, I took in the books. Their worn spines with faded lettering called to me, but it would have been rude to wander around the room, touching Captain Fairfax’s books, so I glued myself to the chair, settling my hands on my knees as a reminder to stay put.
Soon, Jessa and Captain Fairfax were all caught up, and at twenty-one hundred hours on the nose, Xiao appeared to ferry Jessa to bed. They left me sitting in shadows, dreading being alone in this odd slice of old Earth with the off-putting captain. As he took his seat again, he smiled, but on him, with his strong brow and shadows obscuring half his face, it appeared insincere. I waited for him to speak, but he only watched me, expression loaded yet unreadable.
“I’m doing very well,” he finally said. “Thanks for asking.” It was brusque yet playful.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I stammered, taken off-guard. I didn’t know what else to say, so I just . . . didn’t.
“I can tell by your accent that you’re from the Empire, Miss Ainsley. I’ve visited many times. Excellent tea. What was it like growing up there?”
“It was fine,” I replied.
“Merely ‘fine’?” the captain parroted back at me. “From your expression saying it, you’d think it was a torture ship. You should feel lucky it wasn’t the Stalwart. I’ve visited that ship as well, though I wouldn’t call anything about it excellent.”
He chuckled, clearly thinking himself clever. A spark of self-righteousness, masking wounded pride, straightened my spine and made my tongue sharp. “That’s where I’m from, actually,” I said. “I transferred there when I was eleven.”
“Oh.” He had the good sense to appear contrite. “And how old are you now?”
“Seventeen.”
“Well, that’s only six years, at least? More than half spent on the well-appointed Empire . . .”
He was lousy at apologizing.
“I was orphaned at seven, so I’m afraid my memories of the Empire aren’t entirely pleasant. I thought you would have known some of this from my résumé?”
“Oh, I didn’t read it,” he said with total nonchalance. “I trust Xiao to sort out these things. Well. She sends them to me, but I don’t really pay attention. I did note your name and figured you’d be simple enough. Not too full of yourself.”
“What does that mean?” My tone came out shriller than I would have liked. I dug my fingers into the chair’s cushion to steady myself.
“Your parents named you Stella. Literally ‘star’ . . . I reckon they were practical, simple folk.”
“I like my name,” I said through clenched teeth. I’d wear my teeth to points, at this rate. “And what does Hugo mean? ‘Rude’?”
Infuriatingly, he laughed, bright and full, and when our eyes locked, his reflected approval. “I have no clue what it means, but you might be close. I like your fire. You’ll do well with Jessa.”
“You’re not firing me?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“It’s just, I thought, seeing as I turned off the warning beacon . . . I flagrantly defied safety protocols, and you nearly died.”
He waved me off. “It’s not the first time that has happened, I assure you. I am disconcertingly prone to . . . tampering.” His voice fell to a low growl, brows knitting together darkly. Then quickly, his dour mood passed. “I do hope you’ll like it here. The previous governesses found it . . . boring, and none stayed long. Are you easily bored, Miss Ainsley?”
“It’s Stella,” I said, finding myself squirming at each “Miss Ainsley” he uttered. It was too formal.
“Stella,” he said quietly, almost to himself, feeling out the sound of it in his mouth. “Then you must call me Hugo,” he declared after some consideration.
“Hugo,” I tested for myself. The name made him seem more approachable, certainly. Too sophisticated to mean “rude,” at least. But it also brought back to mind the thought that had been niggling at me ever since he arrived, and especially as I watched him and Jessa interact. I just couldn’t make the math work. “How old are you, sir? It’s just that I can’t figure how you could hav
e had Jessa and yet look so close in age to me.”
“‘Had Jessa’?” he repeated back, confusion apparent. “Wait, do you think . . .” Then he laughed, but it came out more like a bark. “Jessa is my sister,” he said. “I’m nineteen, and no father. You wound me with accusations that I look old enough to have fathered a ten-year-old.”
“I said you didn’t look old enough,” I mumbled, feeling my whole body go hot. Still, I did the mental math and came up short. “How old were you when you became captain, then? And what happened to your parents?”
“You’re very good at asking difficult questions, aren’t you?” he said. “I was fourteen when I became captain, after my parents’ deaths.”
“It must have been especially difficult becoming captain at so young an age,” I hedged, avoiding the orphan-shaped elephant now in the room. “I can’t imagine commanding an entire vessel, or being left to raise your sister at just fourteen.” I was rambling, possibly getting too personal, but the captain—no, Hugo, I reminded myself—set me ill at ease, with the way he lounged back in his chair, studying me, leaving silence between us until I was forced to fill the space. “And who decorated in here? It’s amazing. I can’t believe you have real books.”
“Do you like books?” he asked, perking up.
“Of course. I didn’t have much to read on the Stalwart, but now that I’m here, I have a new reader and tons of options. Jessa mentioned it, but we’re reading Shakespeare. I also just started making my way through the Jane Austen collection. And I like history books a lot. But of course, they’re not made of paper like these. Why don’t you preserve them?” I finished my ramble, mortified, but found Hugo nonplussed.
“Books are meant for reading. At least, that’s what my father always said,” Hugo replied. “They may be ratty and fading, but they’re fulfilling their purpose. You can look, if you like.”
I didn’t second-guess his invitation, jumping to my feet and heading for the nearest shelf. I could barely read the words on the spines, not only because the lettering was fading—and the binding falling apart, in some cases—but because the lighting was so low. “Rori, can you turn the lights up a bit?” I asked without thinking. She obliged, and I heard Hugo snort behind me.