by Kate Blair
He’s drumming his fingers on the table. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. The noise cuts through me.
“I’ll need to investigate the area near the gravesite. Urgently,” Cassius says. “Perhaps Yuri’s right about some things.”
My gaze snaps back to Cassius. “Yuri? What do you mean?”
“He’s dreaming up conspiracies.” Cassius waves a hand. “Don’t worry. I told him you had nothing to do with Orion’s death. But you know how he is.”
I certainly do. He hates my family. All because my dad sentenced his father to the Exit for stealing rationed food supplies twenty years ago, when the crew was in danger of starving.
Cassius continues. “I’ll have to see the area before word gets out. There’s other information too. I don’t suppose I can keep any of it under wraps for long. And perhaps it’s better if I don’t.” He looks up at me. “Strange DNA that came back from Orion’s body. It might be a replication mistake. They’re checking now. I’m hoping it is.”
I don’t say anything.
“It’s … well, it doesn’t match any identifiable species. Some similarities to wolves and tigers and a few other Alpha species. Not what I would expect from alien life. That’s why it might be a mistake. Contamination of the sample in the genelab.”
“And you won’t delay settlement.”
“We might be better off hurrying things along. If there are creatures, we could use all the Venture’s tech down here. We’ll have to build a stronger village. Arm people.”
“But … that’s worse. We need to wait things out on the Venture until we know what’s happening.”
Cassius shakes his head. “There are people — Yuri is one of them — who won’t leave the surface. We can’t let the colony pull apart, like the Venture 2. And I can’t leave any of my people unprotected if there’s something in the woods.”
“So, you’d put us all in danger because of idiots like Yuri.”
“This is why we’re here, Ursa. We’re the dream of humanity. We can do this. We can do so much more than this.”
If that’s meant to be inspirational, he’s way off base. “We’re so vulnerable. We’re like a flame that can be snuffed out at any point.”
Cassius nods. “We are like a flame. That’s a good metaphor. We need room to spread. Room to grow. Then we’ll be unstoppable.”
“We have to take our time.”
“We have to plant now so there’s a harvest later. We can’t leave the half-finished buildings to collapse or we won’t have a home to settle at all.”
“But what about the dead bird and the DNA? We need to know more.”
“Yes. We do.” He rubs his stubble. “Do you think Jovan will tell people about the dead bird?”
“It’s not a secret, is it?”
Cassius exhales. “I guess it can’t be. I really should look into this urgently. Before rumors spread. Can we cut our meeting short?”
“I … okay.”
He stands. Grabs his jacket. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”
I just nod.
Then he’s gone, out of the cabin and into the dying light of the day.
I stand there for a moment in the empty hut, gripping the back of my chair, wood rough under my hands. Cassius’s exit has left me off balance, drained the rage from me.
I take deep breaths in the quiet room. The wind hums tunelessly outside. The fragments of mud from my boots are scattered across the floor. Cassius’s chair is empty. Then I notice two mealpacks on the table. The smell of kelp soup turns my stomach.
I need to talk to someone. I need some perspective. Mom’s at work, and she’s terrible at listening anyway. I need Astra. She’s probably still at Celeste’s. After a while, I lift my hands off the chair back and head out into the bustle of the breeze.
When I get to Celeste’s hut, I knock on the door. It produces a satisfying echo. Astra opens it. She puts a finger to her lips and slips outside with a gentle creak of the hinges, closing the door behind her.
“She’s sleeping,” Astra says once we’ve gotten a few paces away. People pass by, wrapped up in their own worlds, wrapped up in their landsuits. It’s strange how the wind puts distance between us. Snatches away the murmurs of conversation that would echo down the Venture’s corridors. It isolates us.
“I wanted to speak to you,” I say.
“And I wanted to speak to you.”
I turn to face her. The breeze steals strands of Astra’s gray hair from her bun and dances them around her face. She smiles knowingly.
“What about?”
“Do you like Jovan?”
I wasn’t expecting that. “I …”
“It’s nice to see you spending time with someone again. You’ve been on your own too much, talking to yourself.”
I look at the ground, at the dark brown earth. I didn’t think anyone had noticed me talking to Maia. Which is dumb. Of course people noticed. There’s no such thing as secrets on the Venture. Not like down here, where they’re as plentiful as water.
The sun is sinking behind Astra, casting her face in shadow. “I’ve been talking to him a lot since Maia’s death. Making sure he’s okay. He’s a smart guy. He’ll probably be captain one day. Or you will.”
Is this why she wanted to speak to me? To give me advice on my social life? I don’t have time for this.
“I think there really is a creature,” I say.
She nods. “What changed your mind?”
“Weird DNA evidence. A headless bird in the wood.”
Her eyes widen. “How do you know this?”
“Cassius told me about the DNA. Jovan and I saw the dead bird on the way back from Maia’s grave. Cassius has gone to investigate.”
“Perhaps we’ll get some answers, then. And maybe Cassius will delay settlement.”
I shake my head. “Cassius is talking about accelerating the colonization.”
“What?”
“He thinks we’ll need the Venture’s resources on the surface to defend ourselves.”
Astra’s mouth is open. I don’t blame her.
“We have to do something, Astra …”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Maybe I can talk to him tomorrow. I don’t know.”
We both stand there in silence. The wind is light on my face.
Astra sighs. “You should go and meet your mother. She’s looking forward to spending time with you.” She gives me a hug. “Don’t worry, Little Bear. It’ll be okay.”
But that’s hard to believe as I step in and out of the long shadows of the huts, heading toward the hospital. People are milling around, waiting for dinner, wandering between their huts and the central buildings. Children dash around, chasing each other, laughing and screaming, the colorful flash of new toys clutched tight in their fists. I’m walking toward the sun, squinting. It’s too bright, too low. The people I pass are silhouettes against its glare. Familiar figures turned into faceless strangers.
I reach the main square and orient myself, blinking as I try to identify the buildings in the dazzling evening light. There’s the hospital. I head for the entrance and pause at the doors for a moment. They’re not automatic, and they don’t slide back. They swing back and forth, like the hut doors, only heavier. I push at them, putting my weight into it, and they open into the echoing space of the hospital.
The hospital is about five times the size of the largest hut, as it’ll house the Beta genelab as well as the sick and injured. The shutters are open despite the cold. They haven’t gotten around to making glass yet, but the makeshift windows let the warm sunset light in, where it shines on the rough planks of the floor. The roof beams arch up high above me.
Only the far corner is in use so far, just four beds against a wall. I stride over, enjoying the smooth solidity of the clean white floor under my boots.
My mother looks up from the display screen, and a grin spreads over her face.
“You’re early,” she says. “Give me a second to ping for a replacement and finish my notes, and I’ll be right with you.”
I nod and lean against the wall.
They’ve brought some portable medtech down from the ship, and it stands next to the beds. The only lit screen is linked by wires to a sleeping figure at the far end. Perseus. Cassius’s son, still recovering from his fall, his monitors a mix of green and orange lights.
He’s a living reminder of how dangerous the planet is, and I’m glad we don’t have the Exit anymore. Cassius is right about that, at least.
It’s only a couple of minutes before Guion arrives. Mom has barely started to brief him when there’s a sound from outside. It gets louder before I recognize it. The breathless keen of a child’s scream. Then the doors swing open and Phoebe runs in, her daughter Aquila in her arms, face red, mouth open. Her shrieking echoes off the walls.
Mom rushes over. “Bring her to a bed. What happened?”
“She was climbing a tree. She fell.”
Mom has the scanner in her hand even before Aquila is on the stretcher. She starts at Aquila’s head and works her way down. Guion stands back and lets Mom work.
“Skull fracture. She’ll need a calcium and collagen injection. But I don’t want to seal the bone before I know if there will be any swelling. Tear in her shoulder muscle. Her leg is broken in two places, a complicated break. It’ll need careful setting.”
“Will you do it, Nashira?” Phoebe asks. I don’t blame her. Mom is the best.
Mom glances at me. I’m about to nod when the doors swing open and Yuri, Phoebe’s husband, storms in.
“How is she?”
Mom shouts over Aquila’s cries. “Skull fracture, torn muscle, broken leg. I’m applying a PainFree patch now. She’ll be okay, but she needs a lot of care.”
“Guion can do it,” Yuri says.
Everyone pauses except Aquila, who keeps wailing.
“Nashira’s the expert. She’ll do it,” Phoebe says.
I can see Yuri’s chest move. He’s breathing in and out. He shouldn’t even have to think about this. Mom is the best. Aquila’s cries start to quiet as the PainFree takes effect.
Phoebe speaks quietly. “Yuri, I will not let your nonsense come between our daughter and the care she needs.”
Yuri stares at his prima for a long few seconds. Her face is set. Yuri glances at Aquila, whimpering on the bed. There’s a softening in his expression, and his eyes glisten. Then he turns and storms out.
The bustle around Aquila’s form resumes. Mom is checking carefully. Taking readings, making notes. Phoebe is stroking her daughter’s hand. Mom glances up at me with an apologetic look, so I think it’s safe to assume that our mother-daughter evening together is cancelled. I’m exhausted anyway. I give her a weak smile and head back to the hut on my own.
I get washed and changed, and climb into bed. I’m almost asleep when a noise comes from outside, then the door swings open. Astra comes in. She smiles and washes her hands in the bowl of water, then heads for the bed, perching on the edge by my pillow.
“How are you doing, Ursa?”
I shrug, and move over to make room for her. She shuffles further onto my pillow and puts her legs up on my bed. “Come here.”
I move over and rest my head on her soft lap. She smells of a little of something like urine, so I shift away slightly and try to ignore it. She is getting older, I know. Another reason to be glad they cancelled the Exit.
“Are you going to talk to Cassius?” I ask, looking up at her.
Astra strokes my hair, stares into space. “Tomorrow.”
“I don’t think he’ll listen.”
“It’ll be okay, Ursa.” She sighs, looks down at me, and smiles. “I promise.”
“I should have listened to you,” I say. “I shouldn’t have doubted what I saw.”
Astra kisses the top of my head. “You won’t doubt yourself again, will you?”
“No.”
I know it’s silly. And I’m almost afraid to ask. “Will you sing to me?”
“Of course, Little Bear.” She eases my head from her lap, stands, and gets a chair. She settles down in it, and I shuffle back under the covers. Then she starts singing, her familiar lilting voice taking me back.
“Our ship, our home, our one true place …”
Dad loved this song. So do I. I close my eyes and imagine I’m still a child.
“Our scrap of safety in outer space …”
I try to pretend Dad and Maia are still alive, pretend we’re all together on the Venture.
“Our cradle, our grave, our spinning wheel …”
But Astra’s singing can’t block out the silence of the hut. The lack of other voices, murmuring in the background, in other cabins. It can’t hide the distances between us.
“Our ark, our dock, our even keel.”
I slip into sleep feeling more alone than ever.
shouts seep into my dreams. They’re distant and faint, but they churn up the weird images of Maia in her landsuit, like Little Red Riding Hood. I jolt upright. It’s light out. The shouting continues. I push the covers off, and the cold air hits my bare skin like a slap. I slide my feet onto the rough wooden floor, open the door, and peer out. The blinding yellow of Beta’s sun is peeking above the horizon, and a crowd has gathered over by the path to the shuttle camp.
I’m only wearing my thin sleepsuit. The familiar voices rise and fall as the wind shifts. I can’t make out the words — I can only hear the panic. I don’t need to be told what’s happened. I can feel it in the horror of the crowd, in the hands clasped over mouths.
It’s the creature. It’s another body, ripped open like Orion.
I stumble over, barefoot. The mud is clammy against the soles of my feet. My arms are wrapped tight around myself, but the real chill is in my gut. I need to get to the crowd. I need to hear the story.
I need to know who’s dead.
There’s Sabik, at the center of the group, making wild shapes with his hands, unruly hair moving with the breeze and his gestures. Yuri, listening closely while his narrowed eyes skim over the people around him. Astra’s back is to me, her whole body too straight, too tense.
At least they’re safe. They’re here.
Who’s missing? Mom’s not here. Celeste’s not here. The voices get louder as I get closer. It’s not a big group, yet. People are still sleeping.
Please let Mom be still at work. Please let Celeste be asleep.
Who else could it be? Vega isn’t here. Cassius isn’t here.
Cassius. Who was going to investigate the creature. Last night. Alone.
Oh no. No.
I check the crowd again in case I missed him. He should be here. He’s the captain — someone would have summoned him.
I should have stopped him going. Why didn’t I stop him?
I trip on the lumpy ground. Stub my bare toe, but keep going, hissing in an angry breath.
Sabik catches sight of me, and he stops talking. Yuri turns, following Sabik’s gaze. His arm rises, as if by itself, finger pointing my way.
“Ursa!” he shouts, deep voice carrying while the others fade beneath the hiss of the trees around us. “She was screaming at him last night. I saw her.”
And that’s how I know I’m right.
Cassius is dead.
Another trip up to the Venture. Another body heavy in the hold. Cassius’s, this time.
The shuttle is packed. There’s a compulsory ship’s meeting, to be held on board tomorrow. My skin prickles with the suspicion around me. At least we’re going home.
Sabik found the body. Not far from where Orion died. Not far from Maia’s grave. Right where I sent him. My chest is ti
ght from the weight of guilt.
Sabik sits next to me on the shuttle, leg jiggling as he tells me what he saw. “He was running away from something. There were normal footprints, but then they lengthened. More weight on the ball of his foot.”
I don’t want to hear this. It’s my fault. I should have stopped him. I should have stopped Maia. My blood pulses in my ears. Mixes with the roar of the engines. The empty hum of the air circulation.
“Then there were knee prints. Handprints. Something attacked him. He was injured, trying to crawl away. And then there was his body.”
I wish Sabik would stop. But I have to hear this.
“It … the body … barely looked like him. And there were bits … missing.”
Eaten. I close my eyes. The crew whispers in hisses around me, filling the shuttle, but their words are inaudible behind the blunt horror of Sabik’s story. I know they’re listening too, even as they pretend to talk among themselves. We’re all good at listening.
Do they think I mutilated Cassius? That another enemy of mine is dead? I sink down in my bucket seat. Cassius wasn’t my enemy. I should have realized how dangerous it was for him to investigate last night, but I was just glad he was taking me seriously.
Vega is at the back. Drugged again. She went crazy, apparently, shouting incoherently, and I don’t blame her. First her husband, now her father. All she has left is her injured brother.
There’s a lump in my chest, threatening to squeeze its way up to my throat. I don’t know if it’s a scream or tears. I just know I have to keep it down. I can’t lose it here, in front of everyone.
Sabik keeps talking. “There were other prints, too. Coming from the forest. And that’s where I found the fur.”
That cuts through my daze. “Wait, fur?”
“That’s what I said. Black fur.”
Exhale. Inhale. There’s no denying it now. There’s a creature on the planet.
And it’s killing us.
i barely sleep that night, even back in the safety of my cabin, walls close on either side, cocooned in familiars sounds and smells. The next morning, I head for breakfast, running my fingers over the engravings. But there’s no comfort there, just cold metal cut into the shapes of the heaped bodies of the Great Virus.