by Kate Blair
“So did Maia. And it killed her.”
“I really am sorry, Ursa. This isn’t the lake where Maia died. That’s why I didn’t think. But I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
Sabik does look sorry. I might have gotten a bit worked up. And for a moment I feel the distance between us like an ache. I didn’t realize how much I missed him.
“We can go back to the landclearer,” Sabik says, “if you’d rather eat there.”
I pause. Sabik’s right. I used to be brave. I can barely remember those days. Is this who I want to be? What would Maia think of me now? In, out. I focus on slowing my breathing. Feel the sun on my skin. Watch the rush and ripple of the water over the stones. There’s no ice. We’re safe here.
“Maia would have liked the river,” I say, finally.
“Yes. I think she would have.”
“Okay. Let’s stay.”
Sabik points out a couple of large rocks, a good distance from the water’s edge. “Those will be comfortable.”
I swallow my fear and follow him. He takes the smaller of the two rocks, and I sit on the larger. The gray stone is warm from the sun. I keep taking deep breaths. In, out. After a while, my heart slows down to its normal rhythm.
I’m hungry, so it’s good we don’t have to hike back to the landclearer before I can eat. I open my mealpack and am about to take out my sandwich when Sabik holds up his bandaged hand.
“Wait,” he says, reaching into his bag with his good hand. He pulls out some of the undergrowth he grabbed on the way here. He slides off his rock and heads for a little patch of green at the water’s edge.
I hold my breath when he moves close to the rushing river, but his footing is sure. He takes a handful of the plants, then plunges them into the water and shakes the droplets from them.
“Cold!” He shivers as he walks back. “Chuck me your meal-pack.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
I put the lid back on and am about to toss it to Sabik. I automatically check if I’m facing toward or against the rotation of the ship, to compensate for the Coriolis effect. Then I remember I’m on the planet, and we have real gravity here.
I will never get used to all these differences.
I pass the pack to Sabik’s good hand. He balances it on his knees, produces a knife, chops up half the greenery, and sprinkles it on my salad. He shoves some of the water plant into my sandwich and puts a brown-gray lump next to it.
“There you go.” He holds the pack back out to me. I stare at it.
“Is that stuff okay to eat?”
“It’s better than the stuff grown on board. It’s all been genetically engineered for us. This is just what we can find in early spring. Wait until summer and autumn, when these trees will be filled with fruit.”
I take the pack from him. Lift up my sandwich and peer at the leaves sticking out on top of the beige tofu patty.
“Why is it green?”
“It gets the full spectrum of light here, not like the UV in the ecocarriages. With the sun, we don’t need to worry about saving energy.”
It’s not natural. Salad is meant to be purple. But I watch Sabik take his own food, add his plants, and start eating. I try a bite.
It tastes clean. Slightly bitter, almost spicy. It offsets the bland sliminess of the tofu patty. I devour my sandwich and turn to the salad. There are little green bits on top of the usual limp purple lettuce and soy sprinkles.
“What’s this?” I point at it.
“Green onions and parsley,” he mumbles through a mouthful of sandwich.
I place a pinch on my tongue. There’s a bite to the salad now. A flavor that fills my mouth. I close my eyes, taste the tang of the onions, the crunch of the parsley. Fresh and cold. Like the water here, like the air.
“And that?” I point my fork at the brown-gray lump in the mealpack.
“It’s a Beta morel,” he says. “A type of mushroom.”
It doesn’t look like the mushrooms we grow on the Venture. It’s wrinkly. I cut a piece off, place it on my tongue, and chew. It’s slimy and tastes like dirt. I spit it out.
“They’re better cooked,” Sabik says.
“I certainly hope so.”
Sabik laughs, and I find myself smiling at him. I take another bite of my salad.
“It’s astonishing, Ursa. Just being here. Humanity, stretching out into the stars. We’re the dream Alpha Earth had so many hundreds of years ago.”
My mouth is full, so I just nod.
“Look,” Sabik says, pointing to a patch near the stream.
There’s movement. I tense, but it’s a tiny bird. Its wings are pressed by its sides. It’s hopping around, exploring its new world. It moves with an odd twitching, bouncing motion. Bursts of fast movement between stillness.
“Watch this.” Sabik lifts up a piece of his bread, crumbles it in his fingers, and throws it on the ground to the side of us.
“I could have eaten that, if you didn’t want it.”
The bird tilts its head with little jerks to look at us and the bread. Then it begins to hop forward. It pauses, uncertain, then pecks at the bread again and again.
“With practice, we can get them to eat from our hands,” Sabik says.
That doesn’t sound smart. The bird’s beak looks sharp.
Once it’s eaten Sabik’s food, its wings flutter and it takes off, hurling itself into the air. I watch as it becomes just a dot in the vast blue above us.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the clear blue sky. It’s too blank. Unbelievably huge. I feel like I could be sucked up into its depths. Gravity is only a matter of perspective, after all. Being born and raised on a starship teaches you that.
“I guess we should get back to work,” Sabik says.
I turn away from the bright sky. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust. He stands and brushes his good hand off against his leg. To my surprise, I find I’m a little disappointed to leave the river. Sabik refills our water bottles and we set off.
Once we get back to the landclearer, I clamber onto the machine and swipe away as many of the vines as I can until I can get to the reset switch. I hit it, but it doesn’t react, although it’s had enough time to recharge. I open the side hatch and lean in. I unscrew the main engine cover. A vine has grown up from the ground, found its way in through a gap in the bottom of the casing, and wrapped itself around the motherboard, corroding it. I’ll need to get another printed and recycle this one. The main casing will need some mending too, like most of the landclearers. But that’s best done on the Venture, and the easiest way to get it to the shuttle is a temporary fix, enough for it to cut its own way out of the forest.
The blades will need sharpening first, so I unscrew them. I pull out some rope from my gear bag and bind them into a bundle. I make a loop at the top. They’re light, like most of the stuff sent by the seeding ships, and will be easy to carry.
I slap the side of the landclearer as I jump back off it.
“I’ll print the parts and get the blades sharpened tomorrow, and we can get this up and running the next day and get it back to the Venture for a proper fix.”
Sabik grins. “A good day’s work, then. We can head back to the camp.”
“I’m in no hurry. I have my first interview session with Cassius this evening.”
“It probably won’t be as bad as you think.” He heads toward the trees.
“Not so fast, please.”
“Do you want me to carry the blades?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I point at his bandaged hand. “You’re more in need of help than I am. I just want you to go a bit slower.”
And he does go slower. Slow enough for me to look around more. There’s the occasional bird. A flutter in the branches making me jump. The buzz of insects. No teeth, thank Beta. No large
bulk pushing through the trees. But it’s such a huge planet. It could be anywhere in this tangled mess. Or it could all have been my imagination.
We’ve been walking for an hour when Sabik speeds up. I find myself panting as I match his pace. I trip on a root and have to focus on the ground again. Step in Sabik’s footsteps.
“What’s the sudden hurry?”
“I don’t want you to be late and get into trouble with Cassius,” he says. “Look! Another bird.”
He gestures at a tree in front and to the right, and I squint at it. He’s right. It’s a tiny brown bird that darts away through the forest as we approach. But we’ve seen several in the last hour, and this one is the same as all the others.
I peer back over my shoulder, looking closely at the mud. Yes. One set of large footprints leads away from us, between a gap in the trees. It’s the path I noticed earlier. Was that deliberate? Did Sabik point out the bird as a distraction?
I turn to face forward and stare at his back. He’s slowed down again, no longer speeding through the forest. And then I’m sure. He raced me through that area, and he distracted me. He didn’t want me to see that path again.
Sabik is lying to me.
My stomach is tight. We used to be totally honest with each other. Even though we broke up, I thought I could trust him. What’s he hiding? And why?
There were never any secrets on the Venture. There was no space for them. I feel the distance then, stretching between Sabik and I. Stretching between all of the crew. The cracks between us are widening. But I know what I have to do.
I have to come back here and investigate. Alone.
The shadows are lengthening when we step out of the forest, and the gentle luminescence of the glowferns is more noticeable as Beta’s sun sinks. I exhale as we leave the trees behind. There are lights on in the little village, guiding us back across the fields. I’m glad for that. The trees all look the same. The fields all look the same. I’m not sure if I could find my way back without those lights.
As we reach the camp, the breeze brings a familiar smell. Vegetable stew, although it’s just a bit different. A little sharper, warmer. It must be the air itself that’s changing the smell. The scent of the pines mingling with the mundane and making it strange. There are lights on in the canteen hut, and the murmur of voices and staccato sound of laughter beckon from inside.
“Do you want to join me and the agricologists at dinner?” Sabik asks.
There’s the hot gnawing of hunger in my stomach, but I check my linkcom.
“Nope. It’s time for me to see He Who Must Be Obeyed.”
Sabik makes a clicking noise with his tongue. “Give Cassius a chance.”
I just turn away. Sabik’s lying to me about that path. So why should I listen to his advice? Plus, I need to mentally prepare. The captain and Vega think I’m involved in Orion’s death. I’m not giving Cassius ammunition to use against me in a trial. I know my rights. I only have to answer his questions honestly. I don’t have to spill my guts to him.
I head away from the main square and the comfort of the canteen hut and trudge through the shadows to the captain’s hut. That one’s easy to identify, at least. It’s finished, unlike everyone else’s. There are solar panels on top. As I get close, the door swings open. Warmth comes from inside.
Must be nice to have a heated hut.
“Right on time. Come on in, Ursa,” Cassius says. He’s smiling that fake smile of his. I take a deep breath and slouch past him into the hut.
It’s not that different from my family’s cabin, although there’s no bed. A wooden storage chest is in use as a table, with a small lamp from the Venture that casts a warm light. There are two wooden seats, one either side of the chest. It smells of vegetable stew in here too. Great. I’m going to spend the whole meeting being taunted by my stomach.
Then I notice the two mealpacks, one next to each seat. Generous servings, too.
Cassius gestures to the chair furthest from the door. “I thought you’d be hungry,” he says.
I slump down into the seat. It’s more comfortable than it looks. Not cold, like the metal benches of the Venture. I reach for the food. Cassius takes the seat opposite and runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, making it stand up in all directions. He picks up his own stew and shovels some into his mouth.
“What do you think?” he says, once he’s swallowed.
I wonder what he’s talking about. Vegetable stew has been part of the meal rotation for hundreds of years before I was born. It’s fine. It’s fuel.
But then I put a forkful in my mouth, and I understand.
It wasn’t the air of Beta making the food smell different. It is different. Like the changes Sabik made to my lunch, the taste is more complex. There’s a new warmth to it. Something that brings out the individual flavor of each of the components — the carrots, the potatoes, the beans — makes them sharper, stronger.
I can’t help myself. “Mmmm,” I say. “What is it?”
“A few things, actually. More salt, some early herbs that are starting to come up, wild garlic, and green onions. Now that we don’t have to worry about space to grow, we can plan meals around flavor, not just nutrition.”
I continue eating. It is good. But I know what Cassius is trying to do here. And if he thinks all this will get me to drop my guard, he’s wrong.
“Ready to talk?” he asks.
I swallow a mouthful. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He pauses, fork partway to his mouth. “Ursa, I’m not your enemy.”
I shrug. “You’re investigating Orion’s death, and your daughter all but accused me of it.”
“I have to investigate everyone.”
I dig my fork into the stew. “Even Vega?”
“Of course, even Vega.” He takes a bite of his food, chews it, then swallows. “I will be impartial in this.”
I can’t contain a snort.
Cassius tilts his head. “Perhaps we should talk about Vega, then. That may be a good place to start. You used to be friends, didn’t you?”
“Is this anything to do with Orion’s death?”
“Please answer the question.”
I shovel more stew into my mouth, to delay.
“You fell out because you didn’t like Orion, correct?” He picks up his fork again. Digs into his stew. “You blamed him for Maia’s death.”
“He waited half an hour before he started the search. He was negligent. He should have been disciplined.”
Cassius sighs. “We went through this months ago. She probably died right away. Cold shock response.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“So you felt betrayed when Vega married Orion.”
I stare at the stew, not wanting to eat, not wanting to talk. I was hoping Vega would be there for me after Maia died. I needed friends. I needed her.
But she announced her engagement instead.
“I told her to choose between being friends with me and marrying him. She chose him.”
Cassius tilts his head again. “Can I tell you a bit about my daughter?”
I examine his face, but it’s hard to read, so I shrug.
“Vega has always been so proud, but she’s not comfortable, socially. She doesn’t make friends easily.” He pauses as if he’s thinking. “Do you know how she felt about children?”
I give a dry laugh. “She’d go crazy over babies. Wouldn’t stop going on about how they were going to lift the breeding restric-tions on Beta.”
Cassius shifts in his seat. “And … how can I put this? What was your impression of how the male crew members viewed her?”
I look at Cassius for a minute to see if he’s serious. He meets my gaze, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for my answer.
“It’s like you said. She doesn’t make friends easily.”
“That’s not what I meant. How would you describe her attractiveness? How she looks?”
I just stare. I’ve never thought about it. “I … I … she’s Vega. She looks like Vega.”
Cassius leans back in his chair. “My daughter has many good qualities, Ursa. But she is not conventionally attractive. And young men find it hard to look past appearance.”
I open my mouth and close it again. I’ve never thought of her as beautiful, that’s true. Her left eye is bit smaller than her right, and I know she hates the bump in her nose. But she’s strong, and since she’s been down on the planet, freckles have broken out over her tawny cheeks. They suit her.
“What do you think her choices were when Orion asked her?”
Now I think about it, he’s right: the boys weren’t lining up for her. I remember her saying she envied me, because Sabik and I were happy together, back then.
I see what he’s getting at, although I note he’s been careful not to come out and say it. Perhaps she didn’t think she had any other options when Orion asked her.
The vegetable stew churns in my stomach.
“She could have had children on her own,” I point out. But even I know the answer to that. She wanted a family. Not just a child.
“You should talk to her,” Cassius says. “I think she’d still like to be your friend. She’s been through a lot. First her brother was injured and now she’s lost her husband. And she’s more fragile than she looks.”
“How … how is Perseus?”
“It’s not good. It’s unlikely he’ll walk again. My son will need all the resources we can give him for a long while.” He exhales, heavily, then looks at me. “Don’t think I don’t know how dangerous this planet can be.”
His eyes are fierce. I can’t hold his gaze, so I look down to the chest between us.
“But if we weren’t on Beta, he’d have faced the Exit,” Cassius says.
That’s true. The Venture can only support a limited number of crew, and all adults have to work. For four hundred years those who were injured or too old were euthanized.
“But if we weren’t on Beta, he wouldn’t have been injured,” I say.