by Kate Blair
“It’s the breeze,” I tell Maia. “I’m being silly.”
My words fade into the darkness. Maia isn’t here to laugh at me anymore, so things aren’t funny. The landbike hums as it bumps its way over the path.
A flash of movement up ahead. A black shape in front of the glowing plants. The shine of teeth.
My breath stops. But something is breathing.
The pant of in and out. Just for a moment, then it fades into the hiss of the trees. I can’t see the shape anymore. Maybe it’s deeper in the trees. Maybe it was never really there. It shouldn’t be there. It’s impossible.
The landbike’s headlight hits the nearest branches. Makes them stand out clear as knives, but deepens the darkness beyond. Trees. Branches. Ground. Caught in the shaking light, a patch at a time. My heart is hammering against my rib cage.
I make myself breathe. Force the air in and out. I’m imagining things. Astra and her stories have gotten to me. Big bad wolves creeping through the deep, dark woods.
Everything is fine. In and out. Deep breaths.
I want to put my foot down, speed toward the shuttle camp. But the battery won’t get me far at speed. I keep the landbike steady. Bumping over the path. There’s nothing there. I know there’s nothing there.
“This planet is making me irrational,” I whisper to Maia.
I’m checking either side, trying to see into the darkness clutched between the branches.
That’s why I almost hit the body.
His legs are bent at the knees, and I swerve to avoid his boots. The rest of him sprawls across the path, head almost in the undergrowth at the side of the track.
My hand flies to my mouth. I stop the landbike, twisting the handlebars to let the headlight fall on him. I don’t want to see. I can’t look away, but I don’t want to see. The landsuit is ripped open at the shoulder. There’s flesh underneath. Torn and red, like the clothes. A splash of curly light brown hair, messy with mud.
It’s Orion.
I slide off the landbike and drop to my knees. Fingers searching for a pulse. My shadow stretching over his body, blocking my headlight. There’s too much mud on his neck. I try to find his skin under the wet dirt, mentally running through my emergency training, but it’s wet and soft, and my fingers sink further in.
The mud is warm. That’s when I realize: it’s not mud.
His neck is open.
I yank my hand out, clutch it to me. Oh Beta. My fingers were in his neck.
There’s nothing I can do for him.
There’s blood on my hand, I think. I can’t tell for sure. Dark liquid on dark skin, a gleam in the night. I rub my forefinger against my thumb to check. It doesn’t feel like mud, but if it’s blood, it isn’t congealed at all.
I stop moving, apart from the trembles that shake my body. I’m listening. Whatever happened to Orion, it was minutes ago. And I saw what did it. A shape in the forest. A shape with teeth.
No. That makes no sense. The animal releases aren’t scheduled for days. The woods are uninhabited.
But something killed Orion.
I hold my breath. Just the rustle of the trees. Logic comes back slowly. I can’t stay here. I’m alone in the deep, dark woods with a body. I need help.
If I were on the ship, this would be easy. I could hit an alarm. I could yell and someone would probably hear. Here, we’re so far from each other. So far from help.
I need my linkcom. I reach into my pocket. Pull it out with a shaking hand. It slips from my wet fingers, falls out of the headlight’s circle, and bounces into the darkness, into the churned-up mud at the edge of the path. I scrabble for it, fingers sliding through the sludge. I can’t find it. I grope and scrape at the cold ground, crawling forward, desperate. Cold mud under my fingernails, soaking through the knees of my landsuit.
Then my hands are sliding from under me and I’m falling sideways, onto Orion’s body. His blood, the staring eyes, the wounds in his shoulder. I gag at the smell: sweat, piss, and the metallic scent of blood. Too much blood.
I push myself off, crawl backwards. Breathe. I try to wipe my hands on my landsuit, but that’s bloody too. I stand up and stumble back, feeling sick.
Worse: helpless.
The trees sway in the wind. Long shadows cast by the headlight of the landbike leap around me. The glowferns’ eerie light glimmers on Orion’s open eyes, his olive skin.
I have to get help.
My linkcom can stay in the mud. It can lead them to the body. I’m going. Now.
I grab the landbike and pull myself up on it. My hands, slick with blood and mud, slip on the handlebars. But I get on, hit the starter. The wide wheels start to turn, thick tracks gripping in the mud. It makes a splattering sound as it spits out behind me, over Orion’s body.
I speed into the dark. My hands shake on the steering bars. I twist the accelerator as far as it can go. The display is red now. The battery won’t last long.
Orion’s body was slashed. Raked across by something sharp. Throat opened.
Something in this forest, something on this planet did this to him.
I finally allow myself to mutter the thought that is practically heresy.
“I hate it here. I hate it here. I hate it here.”
it starts to rain. I forgot about rain. Forgot how annoying it can be, this excess water. Spiteful droplets spit in my face, making me blink, making me take a hand away from steering to wipe at my eyes. The display beeps as the battery gives up, and the landbike slows to a halt.
But I can’t be far from the shuttle camp now.
I throw myself off the bike and run, stumbling and slipping through the mud. This stupid uneven path. Breathless. Each step desperate. Hoping there’s nothing in the trees. The glowferns don’t illuminate the path enough to avoid the pits and holes, and I tumble into the mud. Then real lights finally appear through the branches ahead. Bright, man-made lamps. I’m there. At the camp.
I start shouting.
There’s no one in sight as I burst out of the forest, but a light comes on in the duty protector’s hut. I wipe the rain from my eyes. The door opens and there’s Vega. Her face is crinkled in a sleepy frown, and for a second I’m pleased to see her. Until I realize she’s waiting for her husband.
That stops me like a punch.
Oh no. I can’t be the one to tell her. We’ve barely spoken in the months since she chose him over me, but I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I know she hates me as much as I hated Orion. It would hurt too much coming from me. But everyone else is at the bonfire.
Vega rubs at her eyes. “Ursa?” She stays under the shelter of the hut’s overhang. “You woke me up.”
“I … I …” Words won’t come. I’m not even sure how to say what I saw. I don’t know what I saw. I can’t do this. I need to send for help. Someone who can break the news to her properly. “Could I borrow your linkcom?”
“What’s wrong with yours?”
I just shake my head.
She lets out a huff of air. “Who are you going to call? Why were you shouting?”
I try to swallow down my panic. Blink through the rain. There’s a world between what I saw in the woods and Vega here, her usual grumpy self. I can’t make them fit.
“You should … should go back to sleep. Please, just lend me your linkcom.”
“Where’s Orion? He was meant to be coming here.”
The panic tightens to a knot in my chest.
A light comes on inside the next hut. A head peers out, silhouetted against the beam from inside. Guion, one of Mom’s medical team. He steps out, and the rain pastes his thin gray hair against his scalp. “I heard the shouting. What’s going on?”
Thank Beta. “I need a linkcom,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
He doesn’t hesitate, holds his out. I grab it and take a few steps
away from Vega. Once I’m out of earshot, I wipe the droplets of water off the screen, then ping Astra.
“Guion?” Astra’s voice is unnaturally high when she answers. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s me.”
“Ursa? Why are you using Guion’s linkcom?”
It’s hard to hear her over the hiss of the rain. “I need you to get the protector on duty.”
“It’s busy here. Sabik burned his hand.”
Of course he did. “This is important. There’s been an incident in the forest.”
“What incident? You’re meant to tell me if there’s an incident.” Vega’s voice from behind makes me jump. The mud muffles footsteps here. “Is that blood?”
I look at my hands. I’ve smeared Orion’s blood over the white of the linkcom. Droplets of water are turning it pink, washing it away. My landsuit is covered with it, but it’s just a dark stain against the red.
“Blood?” Astra says in my ear. “Did she say blood? Are you okay?”
I try to reply quietly. “Call the protector on duty at the forest camp. Tell them to head for my linkcom signal. Make sure they’re armed.”
“I’m coming,” Astra says.
“No!” I don’t want her coming through the forest. Not if there’s something still there. “Get the protector on duty. Keep close to Celeste. She’s going to need you.”
Vega grabs me, spins me around so fast Guion’s linkcom drops from my hand. I turn to pick it up, but she grabs my wrists, makes me look at her. “What’s happened to Orion?”
My hands are slippery with the rain, the mud, the blood, so I pull them away easily. But Vega’s eyes are wide. She doesn’t look angry now. Her face is open, like it used to be, back when we were friends.
I’m not going to lie to Vega. I owe her that much.
“I’m so sorry. It’s Orion. He’s in the forest.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice is too calm.
“He’s dead.”
Behind her, Guion puts a hand to his mouth.
“No. There’s been a mistake. You made a mistake.” Vega is almost pleading with me. And I wish I could take it back.
“I’m sorry, Vega. I really am. I’ll call Astra again. Ask them to send someone to take care of you. Get your dad, maybe.”
Vega looks around, as if for help, eyes filling.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” Guion says, taking a few steps toward the woods. “I could go. I could see if …”
“I’m sure, Guion.”
“But … how?” Vega’s voice is a croak. She swallows, hard.
“I don’t know. I’m so sorry, Vega. Look, let’s go to your hut. You need to sit down.”
“No, I have to see him. I have to check.”
“You shouldn’t see him like that,” I say. “Please, Vega. Trust me.”
“Come with me, Vega,” Guion says.
But her gaze slides off us, and she shakes her head. “He could need help.” Then, faster than I can react, she turns and runs for the woods.
“No! Vega!”
I grab at her sleeve, but she’s too strong. She wrenches out of my grip, and I fall to my knees. She’s fast, sure-footed in the mud. She passes Guion.
“It’s not safe!” I yell.
Guion runs after her. “Wait, Vega!”
I push myself to my feet, stumble after them both. Vega keeps running, Guion behind her, both sprinting for the forest path. I take a few more running steps, to the edge of the trees.
But Vega’s sobs and Guion’s shouts have already faded, their figures disappearing into the dark. I slow to a walk, fighting with the panic in my gut. I feel the trees pressing in either side of me, the darkness and the eerie glowferns between them. My legs shake so much they barely hold me.
I can’t catch up to them, and I can’t be alone in the forest again.
I stop, take a few unsteady steps back to the lights of the shuttle camp, the rain pouring down on me. Guion will catch up with Vega. He’ll make sure she’s okay.
I hope.
It’s a somber trip back up on the shuttle the next day. The joy I used to feel at the boosters firing is smothered by the sorrow around me. By the weight of Orion’s body in the hold.
Just like Maia’s, three months ago.
I always imagined her as a pale and perfect snow princess when her brother, Jovan, found her. Drifting among the shattered ice, eyes closed as if she were asleep, just caught in a fairy tale. Red locks floating in the icy water around her.
But now I see her like Orion. Beta’s omnipresent dirt in her hair. Eyes open and staring.
I blink to clear my tears. Glance around at the shuttle. Our acceleration is smooth and even, all within normal parameters, gravitational force around that on the Venture or Beta. The shuttle banks as we climb. I’m in a bucket seat by the window, Celeste next to me, Astra on the other side of her. Mom is in the row behind us. Vega is slumped in her seat at the back of the shuttle, sedated up to the eyeballs.
Celeste clutches her hands together on her bump. I catch glimpses of her wet cheeks through the veil of her thick, wavy hair. A loose red thread on her landsuit brushes against the golden-brown skin of her thumb, moving in the circulated air of the shuttle. I wonder if it tickles. But she doesn’t seem to notice.
I haven’t told her about what I thought I saw, only about finding Orion. She’s already in shock. She’s under so much stress, and I don’t want to make things worse for the baby. I’ll tell her back on the ship. When we’re safe. When the time is right.
The woods play tricks on you. If it were someone else, I’d be sure they’d imagined it. It’s not rational. But my memories are as clear as the glint of teeth in the beam of the headlight.
Perhaps I should try to warn people. But they’ll think I’m mad. Perhaps crazy enough to have slashed Orion’s throat myself.
And maybe I am losing it. It makes more sense than the alternative. After all, I’m talking to my dead best friend when no one else is around.
I stare out of the tiny window at Beta shrinking below me. There’s our entire colony: the runway and the shuttle camp, the narrow path through the trees to our little town square, surrounded by habitation huts, fields, and the clearing with the charred remains of last night’s bonfire.
There’s a small bald patch in the woods to one side of the runway. Our graveyard, with two bodies in it already: Maia’s and Seginus’s. I guess we have another to feed to the dirt of the planet, once the investigation into Orion’s death is done.
The muddy gap of the graveyard is one of a small number of cleared spaces in the woods that appear as we climb higher. Twenty other patches form a rough circle around the settlement. One for each of the Venture’s carriages to land when she’s pulled apart and drops down through the atmosphere to Beta. The ship was never meant to stay in orbit. She was designed to separate from her spokes, descend to the planet, and form the core of our colony.
I shudder. I don’t want to think about Betafall right now.
As we ascend, it’s clear our new home is only a scratch on the surface, hemmed in by endless forests, seas, and rivers. And even that scratch is swallowed up by the wilderness as the shuttle climbs toward orbital height, up into the blackness of space.
It puts it all into perspective. Our colony is a microscopic blip, a tiny flame in endless darkness, vulnerable and quivering. It could be snuffed out so easily, like Maia’s life. Like Seginus’s or Orion’s.
It was meant to be easier than this.
Beta didn’t get the chance to develop past single-celled organisms. It had similar gravity to Alpha, the building blocks of life, and an almost-breathable atmosphere before humanity started work on it. The planet was bioengineered for us. Waves of unmanned seeding ships terraformed it with bacteria, genetically engineered plants, and bugs, all ready for our arrival, w
hile mechanical landclearers sent on the last seeding ships prepared open fields, ready for the carriages to land. Ready to build and grow.
But we were delayed. Only by eighty years, which is good, really. There were always going to be unexpected maintenance issues in a flight as long as ours, and we were able to eke out our supplies just enough to reach the planet. Mostly thanks to my father, the ship’s captain in the last two decades of our flight and an expert engineer.
The seeding ships sent ahead could fly faster. They didn’t have to worry about the force of acceleration damaging fragile human bodies. But that speed and our delay meant the landclearers broke down, one by one, in the decades before we arrived. The forest took over. In the end, there was barely enough clear space to land the shuttle.
The planet’s a mess.
Now there’s the curve of Beta’s horizon, and the reassuring darkness of space beyond, dotted with the fairy lights of far-off suns. I float up in my seat, the straps holding me in place. We’re back in the world I know, the world of my childhood. The sound of the engine changes as the acceleration builds from a hum to a growl as we speed up enough to match the Venture’s orbital velocity.
And there she is.
It’s still strange, seeing our ship from outside. The wheel that is my home. She’s an icosagon: twenty carriages around the hub, half of them for growing food, the other half for everything else — the genelab, the medcarriage, storage, habitation carriages 1 to 5, and the generator carriage. Kilometer-long spokes lead to her engine room in the middle. One full rotation a minute to create the illusion of a gravitational force that matches Beta’s.
There are scars on her hull where the ship’s main thrusters used to be. We’ve started nibbling at the Venture, cannibalizing her metal to print new parts. The secondary boosters and our generators are enough to keep us in orbit. But there’s no going back to Alpha.
The shuttle stabilizes. We’re now matched to the Venture’s speed, steering in to her rotation. I’ll go to the engine room as soon as I can. I’ll be alone there, and it’ll be easier to think, in the weightlessness.