Firmament:
Gestern
by J. Grace Pennington
Text and cover Copyright 2017 J. Grace Pennington
All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Kindle Edition, September 2017
Cover design by Michael McDevitt
Layout by Penoaks Publishing, http://penoaks.com
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, are merely coincidental.
For Jacob—my August
because he’s always been
a part of my gestern.
Contents
SPECIAL THANKS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SPECIAL THANKS
I’d like to thank my husband Wesley for his love and support through all the late nights writing, the editing woes, and the stresses of publication. I also want to thank my parents, for all the ways they helped me along my writing journey from childhood until now. Also, I thank my younger siblings, who listened to all my stories over the years and always asked for more.
Many thanks also to my beta readers, Jonathan Garner and Hope Pennington, for helping me rethink the parts of the book that needed it, and for taking the time to wade through the first draft. Also, without my editor Jeremiah Stiles, this installment of the Firmament series would make very little sense and would overuse the word “slightly” to the point of ridiculousness. I also thank my cover artist, Michael McDevitt, for bringing August to life just as I always envisioned, and my brother Jacob for helping me work with photoshop to give the cover its final details. And of course, I thank my formatters Rachel and Joel Greene of Penoaks Publishing for the always beautiful interior design.
I would also like to thank the folks of the Cafe Bohemia writers’ meetup for always listening to my writing and encouraging me to keep going when I feel it’s not going well. And I thank Andrew Joyce, the designer of the new Firmament website, and everyone who donated to help me rebuild it after it was lost. It’s because of people like you that this series continues.
Last and most of all, I thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who continues to write my life day by day and allows me to join Him in the wonderful craft of storytelling.
CHAPTER I
Crash sat at a table on the other side of the mess hall with a group of engineers. He leaned back, letting a tuft of his dark hair hang over his handsome face, cheerfully rambling on as though everything were exactly as it always had been.
August noticed me watching him and reached to rest his hand on mine. I forced myself to look away from my cousin and focus on my brother, who sat across from me at our customary little round table.
“You should ignore him,” he said, making it sound more like a question than a suggestion.
I smiled a little, and looked down to study my spaghetti. The rich, red sauce had already stopped steaming. “You’re right.”
The Surveyor had been through many difficult adventures in the eleven years I had lived and worked aboard and many had left the crew in pretty bad shape, but never had I felt such a heaviness settle over the entire atmosphere of the starship. Normally when headed back to Earth there was excitement and increased motivation across all ranks, with everyone looking forward to a time of rest in their upcoming shore leave.
Now, however, everyone went about his or her work silently, often going above and beyond the call of duty, but rarely talking during work hours. Many didn’t even seem to want to talk after their work was finished.
I didn’t blame them. How was a crew supposed to respond when every one of them had recently been subjected to such a severe personality turnaround? How were they supposed to look one another in the eye in the face of that kind of embarrassment or shame, depending on their own personal degree of unusual behavior?
The one person on board who acted almost exactly like his normal self on our journey back to Earth was the one person who had the most reason not to.
Crash.
I twirled my fork in my spaghetti and stole another glance at him. He had managed to coax a general laugh from his table, though even from across the room I could see that their laughter brought tension rather than relaxation to their bodies, that they glanced at one another almost as if asking permission to chuckle at this man. This man who had betrayed us all while under the spell of his own reversal; this man who had never in his life failed to charm himself out of any trouble he found himself in.
I wanted to both slap him and hug him.
Not this time, Crash.
I intentionally shifted my focus to the mass of pasta on my fork. Why, in all these years, had no one invented a better way of eating spaghetti? Why should we have to cut it up or risk trails of sauce-soaked pasta trailing several centimeters below our utensils as we tried to eat it without making a mess?
Perhaps I should try inventing such a thing myself. It would take my mind off everything. And it had been too long since I had worked on anything original.
“How are you feeling?”
August again, his Austrian accent accentuated by his timidity. After all, unlike me he hadn’t been immune to the effects of the reversal zone. We hadn’t really addressed the topic outright, but I didn’t think he was proud of the person he’d been during those nightmarish few days.
“I’m feeling fine,” I smiled at him. “It’s not critical yet.”
He wrinkled his forehead, but said nothing else.
This was the reason I needed to take my mind off of how I was feeling. Or how I would feel soon if we didn’t find some kind of alternate cure for my terminal disease. The disease that should have killed me long ago and only hadn’t because of radialloy—a metal that my biological father had discovered and implanted in my knee to fight off the organisms that would otherwise kill me. But the recent events had damaged the substance so seriously that it couldn’t work much longer.
The radialloy was dying. And when it did, I would die with it.
That was why I needed to be inventing something rather than spending time brooding over my problems.
And it was all Crash’s fault.
“Any progress?” August asked.
I welcomed the distraction from my thoughts. “On what?” I asked, taking a generous bite of the spaghetti.
“Sorry, I meant—has your dad made any progress on finding an alternate cure?”
Oh. That again. “Not yet. But he’s studying constantly... he won’t even stop to eat half the time.”
“Of course not. He loves you.”
I just smiled and bent back over my dinner.
I would have to get used to the fact that this would be my life for awhile. The Doctor—my adoptive father—pumped me for information concerning possible symptoms every hour of the day. The Captain kept watching me like he thought
I would explode at any moment. Almira, the cook, kept offering me special comfort food.
They all wanted to talk about how I was feeling or how they were feeling or why Crash had acted as he did. But the talking didn’t help anyone. It certainly didn’t help me. The Doctor, despite his constant questions, was the one person who seemed to understand this. Instead of rehashing everything day in and day out, he spent his time studying and researching, desperately trying to find another cure that might keep me alive.
Action. That was all I needed. Action that would fix things.
The Doctor always was the best at understanding.
“What do you think...” August began, and I steeled myself for more thoughts on the whole event but he was interrupted by the nearby intercom.
“August Howitz, Captain Trent has just received a letter addressed to you. Please report to his cabin to receive it.”
August drew his eyebrows down over his eyes and looked at me. “Letter? Who on Earth would be sending me a letter?”
“Don’t you know anyone on Earth?”
“Well yes.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin, scooted his chair back, and stood up. “But no one who would want to write to me. Not that I can think of, anyhow. You can come along, if you like.”
“What if it’s something very private?” I teased, getting up to follow him.
“I’m sure it won’t be. But if it is, I can send you away.”
“Fair enough.” I fell into step beside him as he left the mess hall and we made our way through the bright, white halls of the ship and down to the Captain’s quarters.
When we reached it the door was open, allowing us to see our Captain within. Tall, muscular, and bronzed, he was in full uniform except for his cap, which sat on a side table beside his plump leather chair. He was engrossed in a book as we entered, boots propped as near his heater as was safe. Images of a comfortable flame danced on the metal in front of him.
He looked up at the sound of our footsteps and smiled, laying his book down. “Yes—August, a message came for you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small pad. “From an Else Sandison. Does that name mean anything to you?”
August stared. The Captain looked up from his screen and smiled wider, and I knew him well enough to know that he assumed this Else was a love interest of some kind. But as August’s sister, I knew that Sandison had been his last name at birth. His—our—father, a con man and a refugee, had changed it before coming to space.
“N-no sir,” he stammered, glancing at me.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I’ll forward it to your pad. I just wanted to let you know the circumstances first.” Still smiling, the Captain looked back down and tapped his screen a few times before looking back up. “Apparently she tried to send it to the Beagle; that was the last location she had for you. Captain Vaughn sent it for me to pass along. He sends his regards.”
“Thank you sir. I’ll—read it in my quarters, if that’s all right.”
The Captain chuckled. “Of course. Read your personal letters wherever you like. Now, if you kids will move along, I’d like to finish this chapter before I’m back on duty.” He put his fingers up to his hairline and bobbed his head as though he had forgotten he wasn’t wearing his cap. Then he turned back to his book.
August turned and left the room, reaching into his jacket pocket as he did. I hastened to follow him.
“Who is—” I began once we were out into the halls.
He cut me off. “I don’t know anyone named Else. Must be a relative Dad never talked about.”
He didn’t sound convinced, and I certainly wasn’t. Else was a very Germanic name, and though August and our father had lived for many years in Austria, they were both American by birth.
The halls were fairly empty this time of the evening and we reached his quarters quickly. As soon as the door closed behind us, he held up his pad and opened the letter.
He was silent for a moment, scanning it. I picked at my nails in the silence, focusing on the constant hum of the life support to try to quell the unsettling curiosity.
His expression didn’t change as his eyes darted back and forth, illuminated by the white light coming from the screen.
“It’s in German,” he said at last. “I’ll translate it.”
Dear August,
I don’t know what Erasmus may have told you about me. Knowing him, I cannot think it was much. Please pardon what will seem to be abrupt or lack of emotion in this message, as I have not much time. I am dying. I need your help. I know who you are, for your father spoke much of you. You were the pride of his poor heart. I do not like the things your father did, which I did not know of at first.
I see I forget to explain that I was your father’s wife. If he did not mention me I am sorry but I am not surprised. You were away at school when he married me, and we did not meet. I loved him, and I believe he had some love for me, but it was not like what he had for your mother. He talked much of her.
I must die soon of Butler’s Septicemia but I am very greatly worried about my daughter. I do not know who to turn to for help for her, but since she is your half-sister, I thought you might be willing to save her. A man named Dred took her for tests.
Her name is Ursula, and she is almost six years old. I have told her of you before.
Do not waste time looking for me. My treatments are not working and I will probably be dead before the Beagle can reach Earth. But please, help my daughter. My heart cries at night because she is not safe.
I wish I could have met you. I hope you have done well since Erasmus died.
Yours sincerely,
Else Sandison
CHAPTER II
August lowered his screen after he finished reading. We stared at each other.
I pulled my arms against my stomach, trying to process what I’d just heard and failing. “You... didn’t know?” I gasped at last.
He shook his head, expression still blank. “I think I should sit down.” He stepped back, stumbling, and dropped onto the edge of his bed. “Dad never said a word about... any of this.” He looked at the screen again. “I don’t find it hard to believe... just—just—I mean, I didn’t exactly expect it.”
I took a breath, watching his face. I hadn’t even known I had a brother until about six months before, and now I apparently had a half-sister as well. And a stepmother, though I was unlikely ever to know her.
I closed my eyes, trying to process. When I was young I had often wanted a sister, but—I’d wanted one close to my age, one who could live with me and the Doctor and work with us. How could I have imagined a scenario such as this one?
“What are we going to do?” I asked at last.
He ran his hand across his forehead as if trying to swipe away the astonishment. Then instead of answering, he pointed to his screen. “Tests? What does it mean saying the man took her for ‘tests’?”
I shook my head.
He gnawed at his lower lip, staring distantly at the screen. Finally, he turned off his pad and stood up. “I guess... we should talk to the Doctor.”
I smiled.
We found the Doctor in his office, a small, sparse white room behind sickbay. Lately he spent every free moment here at his white metal desk, bent over medical journals, simulations, and communications.
He didn’t look up as we stepped through the doorway, didn’t even move except to run his fingers through his gray hair as he scanned the screen in front of him.
At this time of day the two of us should have been working together, even if there was no one to be healed. We would be straightening the sickbay cabinets, sorting out medical records, or perhaps just—talking together. Discussing medicine or theology, teasing each other, laughing, safe in the familiarity of our relationship.
Not lately. Not until we found the answer to my disease.
“Dad?” I said at last.
He held up a forefinger, and I waited until he looked up. The lines in his fa
ce had deepened just over the past week, and his eyes were bloodshot from gazing at computer and pad screens for too long.
“Shouldn’t you eat lunch?” I suggested.
“Almira will bring me something,” he grunted, finally looking up at us. “What do you need?”
I looked at August, who cleared his throat and stepped forward. “I just got a message. Could you... would you look at it for me, please?”
The Doctor leaned back in his chair and blinked. He held out his hand.
August handed him his pad, explaining, “It’s in German...”
The Doctor just nodded and touched the screen to get a translation, then sat in silence, reading it. I watched his face for changes of expression and saw the lines smooth out of his forehead as he lowered his eyebrows and bunched them together.
When he looked up, he asked the same thing I had. “You didn’t know about this?”
August shook his head.
The Doctor sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
The ever-present hum of the ship’s workings filled the silence for a moment. I looked down and studied the smooth, slightly scuffed white floor. A half-sister. Six years old. Kidnapped in Austria. Needing our help.
“We are headed to Earth,” I pointed out.
The Doctor looked at me, face sagging under the weight of his hours of study and worry. “To the United States. I don’t know how simple it is to get into Austria. And the name ‘Dred’ isn’t much to go by.”
I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself again, still studying the floor. August kept silent.
“What are you asking me?” The Doctor looked from me to August.
August just shrugged, so I voiced the question. “What should we do?”
He sighed again and handed the pad back to August. “I don’t know, Andi. You two do what research you can. I’ll think about it.”
I nodded and was about to back towards the sliding door, when he pushed himself out of his chair and closed the distance between us. He put out his arms and wrapped them around me. I squeezed back, savoring the warmth and security that had become far too rare.
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