by Kate Blair
I wonder how many of us will survive now. The Great Virus killed half the crew. We barely kept the ship’s critical systems going. It took several generations to rebuild the population, even after they set the ratio to two women to each man to produce more children. The shortage of crew members created a backlog of repairs they were still dealing with in my father’s time.
And once again, the bodies are piling up around us.
The corridors are crowded. Filled with conversation. But it’s not the usual hubbub of ship’s chatter and gossip. People are in pairs or small groups, holding hushed conversations against the walls. And there’s no giggling, only the hissing and whispering of fear. I hear the word more than once.
Aliens.
But it makes no sense. The planet had nothing bigger than microbes before the first wave of seeding ships arrived. It was habitable only from a cosmic point of view, because most planets are boiling hellholes, frozen lumps, or gassy messes.
Beta had an atmosphere and liquid water, but was what they call a “scumworld.” It only supported single-celled life. The genetically engineered microbes sent ahead of us had a tough job over hundreds of years. They tweaked the composition of the air and killed off anything that could hurt us. And when they died, they enriched the soil, making it ready for the next wave of seeding ships to start planting.
So how could something have evolved in isolation? What would it have fed on? How could it have survived our bioengineering?
Then there’s the proximity to Maia’s grave. I keep coming back to that. Keep wondering if she’s restless in her dirt pit. Angry at being dumped there, the energy stored in her cells wasted. Clawing her way up to Beta’s surface to get revenge.
Now I’m getting silly. Paranoid.
I reach the canteen. The tables are jammed together, and people try to squeeze past without dropping their meals on one another’s heads.
Noise echoes off the walls. The metal amplifies it, turning it into loud gibberish hemming me in, compounding my headache. I forgot how full it gets up here when the crew is all on board. The room stinks of overcooked food and sweaty people. I shuffle between the tables, over to the serving vats, and grab a steel tray. I spoon goop from the giant tureens into my bowl. It’s a choice of vegetable porridge or algae scramble. I pick porridge. It smells the same as always. I guess they were too busy to make it different this time.
Having everyone back on board makes me miss Maia. She should be here. She always used to insist on having exactly what I was having. We sat together. Sometimes it annoyed me, the way she was always there. Now I feel sick about how I treated her. Demanding time on my own, calling her clingy. She just wanted to be included.
If only I had included her on the day she died. If only I’d stopped Cassius going out alone. If only I’d given Orion the fixed landbike and stayed at the forest camp that night.
If only.
Once I’ve filled my tray I scan the canteen. Most of the seats are full, but in the corner a group of educators are leaving. I make a beeline for the empty table, squeezing down the narrow aisles as fast as I can. I plunk myself into a free seat and I’m shoving the tasteless porridge in my mouth when I hear my name in the din of conversation. I keep my head down.
“Ursa!” The voice is louder now. I look up.
Jovan. He points at the empty seat opposite me. “Can I join you?”
“Of course.” I pull my tray over to make room for his. But as he slumps down into the seat, I realize he doesn’t have any food.
“Are you okay?” I have to raise my voice to be heard over the clamor of the canteen.
“Yeah, just not hungry. All this death, you know.”
I nod. He’s quiet for a while, and when he speaks, it’s hard to catch the words over the clatter of cutlery. “I can’t help thinking about Celeste and the baby. And Vega and Perseus. They’ve lost so much. But the planet is dangerous.”
“Cassius went to investigate the bird,” I say. “He was there because I told him about it.”
“Oh.”
“I should have stopped him.”
He looks at me. “This isn’t your fault, Ursa. Don’t blame yourself. Please, don’t do that.”
We’re so close to each other. Unlike most people in the canteen, he smells clean and good.
“Blame our ancestors. They knew people would die. They sentenced my sister to death, and the others, too. I hate that people just go along with it. But we have other options.”
I swallow. “We do?”
“We still have the Venture. We can move back to the ship, and stay here.”
“At least while we investigate this creature and get used to Beta.”
He waves a hand at the busy canteen around us. “But everything’s fine up here. And everything was fine until we got here. We should go back to what works.”
I poke at my porridge. He’s reading my mind. “Things are a mess down there.”
When I look up, he’s staring at me. Those eyes still tie my stomach in knots.
“I should have talked to you right after Maia’s death. We should be better friends. We have a lot in common.”
A thrill runs through me. “Thanks.”
“I wish more people on the ship were like you. We can’t let anyone else die. And more will unless we get them off the planet.”
“We need them to see the dangers. We can wait it out up here, at least while we find out what this creature is.”
“And why should we ever leave the Venture? She’s our home.”
“She won’t last forever.”
Jovan puts his hand over mine. “With engineers like you, and the resources of the planet, I believe she can.”
It’s a nice compliment, but that’s not how it works. I’m about to explain, but he rubs at his face and I notice how tired, how sad he is. He’s still grieving for Maia, and the recent deaths have clearly upset him. Now isn’t the time to make him face reality.
“I should leave you to get on with your breakfast.” Then he stands. “We should hang out soon. Properly.” And he’s gone, through the crowds and out of the canteen.
I sit and stare at what’s left of my food, congealing in the metal tray. We might get another fifty years out of the Venture, using the new resources from the planet. But she can’t last forever, and she wasn’t designed for long-term orbit. Our generation might not colonize Beta, but the next one will have to. Fifty years would be enough, though. The planet would be in better shape. The next generation will be used to all this. They’ll know the dangers.
The clatter and hum of the canteen makes it harder to focus.
What about the creature? Will we ever get used to that? It’s like a nightmare. An unseen monster that stalks the deep, dark woods. It makes no sense. It shouldn’t exist.
My engineer brain kicks in. Occam’s razor. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one. What if it doesn’t exist? What if Cassius was right? Perhaps it could be a disguise, along with doctored DNA and manufactured fur. But why would anyone make up a nightmare like that?
There’s only one logical answer: to cover up murder. Someone wanted to throw us off the scent, or frame me. I should look into this. But where to start?
I can hear my father’s voice in my head. The way he told me to begin with any engineering problem.
Start with what you know, Ursa.
They have the fur in the genelab. And that’s where they sequenced the DNA from Orion’s body. If it was faked, it was faked there. A cold feeling creeps through my stomach. Jovan is a geneticist. He has access to the genelab.
No, wait. He stayed at the bonfire the night Orion was killed. There’s no way he killed Orion and got back to the others without someone seeing. And he was back on the ship last night when Cassius died. In orbit, thousands of miles from the scene of the crime. I exhale. He’s in the clear.
>
But I hate thinking like this. Hate suspecting my friends. Is the planet making me paranoid? The noise in here is overwhelming: the screech of chairs, the clatter of trays, the buzzing of conversation. I push my tray away. I’m not hungry anymore.
There’s so much I need to look into on Beta, but I can’t get down to the planet right now. I have to focus on the evidence I do have access to. The evidence on the ship.
As soon as I’m done with the meeting, I’m going to check out the genelab.
The canteen fills with the sound of movement, of cutlery against meal trays as people hurry to finish their breakfast, start to move the tables away and pull out the benches in time for the meeting. I edge around the crowds out of the canteen, squeezing past people on their way in, heading in the direction of our habitation carriage, hoping to find Mom, Celeste, or Astra. I don’t want to face this on my own.
Children move in groups down the hall, not looking where they’re going. People pause on their way past to gawp at me or whisper. My stomach twists like an over-tight bolt. I’m relieved to see Astra with Celeste coming through the airlock to the next carriage, making their way toward me.
“Don’t worry,” Astra says as she approaches, as if I can switch off my anxiety. “They won’t start the interviews today. We have to elect a new captain first. Your mother is with the rest of the executive now.”
That makes sense. And it explains the compulsory attendance. The bolt in my stomach loosens a notch. Astra and Celeste both hug me, and we join the crowd flowing back toward the canteen. I trail behind them, wishing Astra were big enough for me to hide behind.
She pauses as we pass the engraving of Dad. Touches his face.
“Be strong, Ursa. This is your father’s ship,” she says. “Filled with his fingerprints, his innovations, his fixes. This is his world, and he’s watching over you here.”
She always knows what to say. I walk a little taller as we head into the council room. It’s mostly set up now, seats rearranged in rows, tables stowed. We help move one of the last benches into position and sit down, but soon have to shuffle up to make room for more people. I end up pressed against the metal wall to my left, with Astra to my right and Celeste on the other side of her. The rivets of old repairs dig into my arm.
The room fills to bursting, the space warming with the body heat of five hundred crew members. The air circulators hum at full power, but they can’t cut through the stuffiness. The murmur of conversation tails off as the heads of each section file in: engineering, medicine, genetics, agricology, education, and construction. They take their places either side of Cassius’s empty chair, all wearing faded black armbands.
Antares, Head of Engineering, steps forward. At fifty-five in Alpha years, he’s the most senior of the executive. His age shows in his stooped figure, his slow movements.
He bows his head. “Cassius was our leader during a time of great change. He will be remembered as a man who was strong in trying to shape our future. He was fearless in pushing ahead on the colonization of Beta.”
Fearless was right. But perhaps a little fear is necessary. Perhaps it would have saved him. I peek around at the packed room. A few people are wiping their eyes. Vega sits at the front, back straight.
“We will hold a memorial service with full honors on Beta when the investigation is complete.” Antares takes a deep breath. “But Cassius did not believe in wasting time, and he would want us to move on as soon as possible.”
There are a few sad grins among the section heads.
“I will open the floor for nominations for the position of captain.”
An agricologist stands immediately. Almach.
“I nominate Yuri, Head of Agricology,” he says.
Yuri steps forward, his bulk imposing in the small room. “I accept the nomination.”
No. Oh no. Don’t let it be Yuri.
Medic Guion is on his feet too. “I nominate Nashira, Head of Medicine.”
My mouth falls open. It never occurred to me that Mom might end up as captain. But she doesn’t seem surprised at all. She nods, perfectly composed. “Thank you, Guion. I accept the nomination.”
There’s a thrill through me. Please let it be Mom.
One of the geneticists stands. “I nominate Merope, Head of Genetics.”
But Merope shakes her gray head. “Thank you, but I will be supporting Nashira.” No surprise there. Merope and Mom have been best friends for years. Their sectors often overlap, so they frequently work together. When Capella, Head of Construction, is nominated, she turns it down too, in favor of Yuri.
People shift on the crowded metal benches, peer around at each other. Antares waits for another minute as whispers hiss through the council room. But no one else stands to nominate. If he’s disappointed that no one named him, he doesn’t show it.
“Could I have a motion to close the nominations?” Antares asks. Several hands go up. “Any objections?” The hands fall back down. “Then I declare the nominations closed.” He taps on his display pad.
“Ballots have been sent to your linkcoms. Please vote. You have five minutes.”
I don’t bother to check mine. I won’t have a vote until I’m of age. But all the adults pull theirs out. Some hunch over them, so no one can see their selections. Some hold their linkcoms up as they press, displaying their allegiance to anyone who is paying attention. Astra hits the panel for Mom. I see it glow as the vote is registered.
Everyone is done long before the five minutes are up, so people sit in silence, fidgeting. A baby wails. I cross my fingers. Mom, please, let it be Mom. She’ll let me work on the Venture. She’ll be in charge of the investigations into Cassius’s and Orion’s deaths. She’ll release the DNA report. She’s reasonable. She might even delay the settlement. I can’t see Yuri doing any of that.
A child a few rows in front has tilted her head back in boredom. Her mouth is open as she stares at the ceiling. She has no idea how important this is, how this vote will shape her life.
“Has everyone had an opportunity to vote?” Antares asks, his unsteady voice ringing through the room. Murmurs and nods greet him. “Did anyone have any problems casting their vote?” Shakes of the head. “Merope and Capella, will you confirm the results?” He hands them his display pad.
They both peer at it, murmuring to each other, voices too low for us to hear. Astra takes my hand and squeezes it tight. Merope and Capella glance at each other. Does Capella look happy? Or upset? It’s impossible to tell with her.
It’s Merope who steps forward. “The new captain, with fifty-two percent of the votes, is Nashira.”
I close my eyes. Breathe. Listen to the mutterings and rustlings. People clap.
First Dad and now Mom. Captains of the Venture.
But that was too close, the ship split down the middle. I can’t believe so many people voted for Yuri. When I open my eyes, Mom is already stepping forward, smiling. Yuri’s mouth is open. Clearly, he thought he would win.
“Thank you,” she says. “It is my great hope we can all work together. We need unity, above all else. We have many challenges ahead, and without each other we will not survive.”
Some smiles around me. But a few people stare, making no attempt to hide their hostility.
Mom holds her display pad up. “Our first order of business is to vote on a new Head of Protection and then open the investigation into Cassius’s and Orion’s deaths.”
Yuri steps forward. “I have an urgent motion for the full colony to vote on.”
“The unexplained deaths on the planet are our clear priority —”
“Exactly,” Yuri says. “My motion is for you to be removed from the investigation into Cassius’s and Orion’s murders.”
My heart is in my throat. I barely hear the cries around me.
But Mom’s voice is calm. “I am the captain, Yuri. You can check the
votes yourself. Investigations come under my purview.”
“You’re Cassius’s successor. You’re related to Orion’s wife. You’re Ursa’s mother. You’re too close to the victims and the prime suspect.”
There’s a jolt through me at the words “prime suspect.” He means me, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised. But it’s still shocking to hear it said out loud.
“Now you’re slandering a crew member,” Mom says. “And you did not complain when Orion’s father-in-law was investigating his death.”
“Ursa was the last one to see Cassius alive, and I witnessed her screaming at him. Her DNA was on Orion’s body.”
“There is evidence that points to a possibility other than homicide.”
“Which is so unreliable the executive voted not to release it.”
“That will be revisited, in light of events since then.” Mom’s voice is level, reasonable. But her hands are clutched in fists.
“You’re out of order, Yuri,” Merope says. “I trust Nashira to lead this investigation, and clearly, so does the crew.”
Mom turns away from Yuri, back toward the crew. “There is new evidence from the scene of Cassius’s death and I’m sure the investigation will reveal —”
“I second the motion for Nashira to be removed from the investigation.” A voice echoes from the metal walls. Vega. She’s standing in the front row, looking straight ahead at the council. “Orion was my husband. Cassius my father. They have been murdered. I demand an impartial investigation.”
There’s silence at this.
“I will certainly give you both full access to observe the investigation,” Mom says. “Will that satisfy you, Yuri? Vega?”
“No,” Vega says. “Ursa blamed Orion for Maia’s death. She wanted revenge. And you just got my father’s job.”
There’s a collective intake of breath from the audience. It’s like they’re sucking all the oxygen away from me. I spot Sabik in the crowd. His hand is across his mouth.