by Kate Blair
“You all know it’s been a struggle to keep up the regular shuttle flights. But the explosion turned our problem into a crisis. We can’t support habitation on board the Venture while running the shuttle to and from Beta. A decision must be made, and it must happen today.” Mom clutches the podium tightly. “We must vote on whether to return to living on the Venture until the generator cells are fixed, or to break the ship up now and descend to Beta.”
I see hands raised to mouths. Widened eyes. It’s a hell of a choice.
“If we keep the ship, people are free to stay on the planet if they wish, but they’re on their own.” Mom doesn’t try to hide the emotion in her voice. “We may be able to provide a shuttle down every few months, but we can’t guarantee it. It’ll take at least six months to fix the ship.”
“If we don’t keep working on the buildings, the half-finished ones will rot and collapse,” Capella, the Head of Construction, says. “We’ll miss the main sowing season. We won’t have the buildings and harvest we need to survive the winter on the planet.”
Mom nods. “If we return to the ship, we’d have to wait over a year for full settlement. I would recommend all crew return to the ship in the interim, but I won’t force anyone.”
“I’m staying on the ground,” Capella says. “Someone has to look after the people there.”
I swallow. What chance does she have there? The releases aren’t finished. They haven’t built the hydroelectric dam. There are hardly any solar generators set up, and without them, the huts will be freezing in the winter. Will there be enough food available from foraging?
And I can feel it. Our tiny crew, this crowded room, this small group. The flame that is our whole world, flickering. Weakening in the face of the wind.
Astra steps forward. “Fur and DNA that was found at the sites of Cassius’s and Orion’s deaths does not match anything in Alpha Earth’s archives. And Yuri has testified on record that he too saw a creature in the forest. There is no longer any doubt that there is an unidentified beast on the planet, killing our crew.”
Louder gasps this time.
A voice from the crowd. “Can’t we clear the forest? Push it back from the village so whatever is in the woods can’t get close?” It’s Almach.
“That’s what we’re thinking,” Mom says. “We’d need to finish mending the landclearers, though, which can’t happen until regular shuttle flights are resumed.”
“When do you see us settling permanently?” Capella asks.
Mom pauses, obviously thinking. “If we repair the ship and then use the Venture as our home base while completing the buildings, clearing back the forest, and setting up the hydroelectric dam and mines, we could have the planet fully safe for settlement in a decade.”
Mutterings in the audience.
Astra raises her hands. “We all know it’s not ideal, but we can do this. We lived up here for four hundred years safely. How many people have died since we landed?”
Capella shakes her head. “What about the women who got pregnant after the population limits were lifted? Will they be forced to abort?”
Mom exhales, and I can tell she’s thought about this. “No, they will not. But we have one ecocarriage out of action, and our power is low. We’d need to reinstate the Exit, but would offer settlement on the planet as an alternative to euthanasia.”
I shift in my seat, thinking about what Cassius said. About valu-ing people for more than just their obvious uses. About not throwing them away because they’re old or injured. Is involuntary exile for the sick and old any better? But what else can we do?
“And what about Yuri?” Sabik asks.
“The investigation isn’t done,” Mom says. “Yuri admitted planting the bomb, but he tried to dissuade Vega from detonating it. There may be a more appropriate sentence than the Exit, using Yuri’s skills under supervision on the planet, where he can’t be a threat to the ship.”
I close my eyes, grateful for Mom. She’s always been a healer.
The debate continues around me. Questions asked by everyone and answered calmly by Mom, hands tight on the podium in front of her. She pauses before each answer. Her voice is smooth and measured. But nothing changes the facts. I tune it out. It’s obvious we have to return to the ship. Why is it taking so long? I wish they’d get the vote over with. I want to see Celeste and her baby.
“Any other questions?” Mom asks, finally.
The council room is quieter than I’ve ever seen it. Either there’s nothing more to ask or everyone is dumbstruck. The agricologists cluster together at the back, eyes wide. Rigel rests his head on his husband’s shoulder. Sabik sits next to them.
“Okay. The vote has been now been sent to your linkcoms.”
Shuffling. The sounds of people pulling out their devices. People vote quickly, then sit, fiddling with hair or clothes. No one thinks long before they make a decision.
“Has everyone had a chance to vote?” Mom asks after a while. There are murmurs, which she takes as a yes.
“Merope, Capella.” Astra hands the Head of Genetics and the Head of Construction her display screen. “Can you check the results?”
Capella takes the screen, and they both peer at it.
“Sixty-eight percent in favor of returning to the Venture,” Merope says, satisfaction in her voice. “A two-thirds majority.”
Capella stares at her feet.
“It is decided, then,” Mom says. “There will be one more shuttle trip to the surface tomorrow afternoon to drop off equipment and anyone who wishes to stay, and to pick up possessions and raw materials. Then no more flights for at least two months. We will focus on repairs.”
There’s one more vote, for the permanent Head of Protection. No one stands against Astra, and she’s acclaimed. Mom adjourns the meeting, and people get to their feet slowly and shuffle out, voices muted. Sabik’s still sitting on his bench near the exit. I wander over, sit next to him. The bandage has come off his right hand, but the flesh is still a little pink where he burned himself.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know you loved it on the surface.”
“I’m staying there, Ursa.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
People squeeze past us. I turn sideways, tuck my legs up against the cold edge of the bench so they can get by.
“But … it’s too dangerous. You might not be alive when we come back.”
“Humans managed without our tech for millennia.”
“But they’d been born into that world. And they died all the time from preventable stuff.”
“I’m good at growing food and foraging. If I’m there, people will have a better chance of surviving.”
People file past, their clothes a blur of gray behind Sabik’s messy hair.
“It’ll be easier to survive up here,” I say. “Things can go back to how they were.”
“I don’t want to go back to how things were. I love it on the planet. There’s space and light. For many of us, the time on the ship was the bad old days.”
That hurts. “But, Sabik, we —”
“You got what you wanted. You can stay on the ship.” He pushes himself to his feet, shoulders slumped, and starts to walk away, following the last of the other crew members.
Celeste raises a finger to her lips as I enter her medcabin. She’s lying on the narrow bunk. In a metal bassinet mounted on the wall is a tiny bundle wrapped in gray, threadbare sheets. A shock of dark hair sticks straight on top of a tiny head.
I squeeze into the narrow space next to the bed, lean over the bassinet. Stare down at bow-shaped lips and a brow crinkled into a puzzled expression, even though her eyes are closed in sleep.
Her ancestors and Sabik’s clearly have a lot in common. But I’ll make sure her hair isn’t always a mess, like his. Teach her the importance of brushing it, making it
as silky as his can be, when he takes the time.
“She’s beautiful, Celeste.”
A wide, proud smile.
“I’ll help with her,” I say. “I know it’s going to be tough now, without Orion. But I’ll be the best auntie. I promise.”
She shakes her head. “I’m going down to the surface, Ursa.”
My blood turns cold.
“This planet is hers, it’s her future,” she says.
“I know that. But what’s the hurry? Why can’t you wait until we all go down?”
“When that will be? A decade? More?” She turns to her daughter. Runs a finger across her soft cheek. “Do you think you’re the only one having to relearn everything? Yes, it’s scary. It’s a lot to get used to. The size of outdoors, the weather, all of it.”
“Exactly! So why would you go down now?”
She looks up at me. “Have you seen how comfortable the children are on the planet? It’s natural to them already, and that’s what I want for Beta. I want the planet to feel like home. If she grows up on board, she’ll have to relearn everything, just like us. I don’t want to put her through that.”
“But it’s so dangerous.”
“There’s a false sense of safety here, Ursa. Children raised on the ship are shorter, weaker than they were on Alpha. We die younger. There’s only so much supplements can do. They will have longer, healthier lives on the planet.”
“But all the accidents …”
“Once we’re used to the surface, there won’t be as many accidents. If we retreat to the ship, it’s Beta’s generation that’ll have to get used to the planet. They’ll be the ones that have accidents. I’m not doing that to her.” She looks fierce as she peers down at her child. “It’s my job to make life easier for her, not pass on problems we’re too cowardly to face.”
That one stings. “What about the creature?”
“We’re safe in the village. And we have to face it sometime.”
“But … Astra is here.”
“Not for long.” Celeste rubs at her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re supporting her. She’s committing suicide.”
“What are you talking about? Astra’s safe up here.”
Celeste stares at me. “She’ll face the Exit.”
I’d forgotten about that. It didn’t matter before, when we were colonizing the surface. “But … she’s okay. She’s got time.”
“I don’t think she has. On the night Orion died, she smelled …” Celeste squeezes her eyes shut. “I think she’s having incontinence issues. And she’s getting more stooped all the time.”
My chest constricts. “Well … even if that’s true, she can go down to Beta.”
Celeste laughs. “She won’t. She’d think she’d be a burden on us. You know Mom: she’s so old-fashioned. And so attached to this ship. It’s Dad to her, in many ways. She’ll never leave.”
I stare at the baby’s chest, rising and falling as she sleeps. I swallow.
“I’ll talk Astra out of it. And I’ll be here. I’ll help.”
Beta stirs, and Celeste raises a finger to her lips. The baby makes an odd creaking noise, then her eyes open and a thin scream floods the tiny cabin. Beta turns pink-red. Her mouth is wide open as she wails, and I can see down her little throat.
“I have to try to feed her,” Celeste says. “And you should talk to your own mother.”
“What? Why?”
Celeste moves the child closer, starts adjusting her top.
“That’s not for me to tell you. Talk to Nashira.”
i heave the door to our cabin open. Mom’s sitting on my bunk. She stands when I come in.
“You met Beta?” she asks. “What did you think?”
“She’s cute. But noisy.” The conversation with Celeste has rattled me.
Mom laughs. “I know what you mean. I thought the same about you.”
“You did?”
“You screamed all the time. I didn’t know what to do. Beta has that in common with her aunt. Celeste will need a lot of support.”
“But she’s heading to the planet. She’ll be all alone.”
Mom drops her gaze to the floor. “Not all alone.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “No. You’re captain of this ship. You belong up here.”
“I’m the captain of this whole colony. I’m responsible for everyone’s survival. They need a hospital. I’ll finish my work there and help Celeste through the first few months, then I’ll come back on board.”
She looks up then, eyes wide. “Having a child is hard, Ursa. No one is ever prepared for it. But if Celeste has support, if I teach her a little, give her confidence in herself, maybe things will turn out better for her and Beta than they did …”
There’s a long pause. But I know what she’s saying.
“For us?”
Mom looks relieved. “I was far too young, barely older than you are now. I loved you fiercely. But I couldn’t stop you crying. Astra could. It seemed selfish to keep holding you, keep you scream-ing when Astra could make you happy in seconds.”
Her eyes are red. “I let Astra take over, because I couldn’t bear to see you upset. It seemed like the best thing, although it broke my heart. I threw myself into work.” She sits back down on the bunk. “And by the time I’d grown up, realized it was just my inexperience, it was too late. I found myself on the outside of my own family, and I didn’t know how to get back in.”
She looks small.
“Mom …”
“You grew up great, thanks to Astra, and you don’t need me. I’m not an engineer, so the ship doesn’t need me, either. But Celeste does, and the colonists on the planet do. So, yes, I’m going with them.”
I slump down next to her on the bunk.
She continues. “And there’s Perseus. We don’t have space in the medcarriage for a long-term patient. It’ll be tough to keep him alive without the ship’s tech. If I go down, I can help.”
I close my eyes. Poor Vega. She ended up putting her brother in more danger.
“I’m glad you’re looking after Perseus,” I say, finally.
Mom takes my good hand.
“You’re so independent, Ursa. And I’m proud of you for that. Just don’t end up like me, okay? Let others get close to you.”
The center of me is hollowing out. Mom squeezes my hand, and I stare at the metal wall in front of us.
i spend the next day working, like everyone else. Some of the construction workers will be retrained in basic engineering so we can make some headway on the maintenance logs. And the outside repairs are restarting, with all the dangers they entail.
There’s so much to do, but the ship full of hurrying people feels right. Feels like home. I fix my blowtorch and get things ready for the last shuttle. The least I can do is go down to the surface to say goodbye. There are over a hundred people settling there, and the corridors of the ship are crowded with families making their way to the shuttle with their possessions or saying goodbye to their friends and loved ones. There’s weeping, pleas for people to change their minds, parents begging children to stay on board, sisters begging brothers to come down to the planet.
As I prepare to board, I spot Jovan moving boxes into the cargo bay, ready for loading. He catches my eye and raises a hand in greeting. I head over.
“What are those?” I nod at the boxes.
“Artificial wombs and some genetic material,” Jovan says. “I heard your sister and mother are heading down to the planet with the baby. If I set these up with prepared embryos, show them how to use them, they can make animals for the releases themselves.”
My stomach fills with warmth. He’s giving them a better chance of survival.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“I had to do something for Celeste, especially after she lost Orion. Somethin
g to keep them alive until the next shuttle. We owe them that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “And I wanted to talk to you, thank you for all you did. I’m so sorry about Vega.”
My gaze drops to the floor. I don’t want to think about Vega.
“I … I was going to catch up with you after the meeting, but I saw you talking to Sabik. Are you two …?”
I look back up at his wide eyes. He runs his hand through his hair again. He’s nervous.
“No,” I say. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A smile flows over his face. “Good. I mean … well.” He laughs. “Do you want to sit together? On the shuttle down?”
“Yeah. I mean sure, if you want.”
He beams at me. I think about what Mom said, about keeping people at arm’s length. She and I aren’t that different, I guess. My closest companion for these last months has been my imaginary version of Maia. But maybe I can change that.
Jovan and I board the shuttle together. Celeste is already in the front row, next to Astra, both their faces blotchy red from crying. Celeste’s baby is screaming in her arms. Mom’s next to them, brow lined with worry. Sabik sits in silence at the back with the other agricologists.
Jovan guides me to a window seat, and I strap myself in. I watch the wheel of the Venture through the thick silica glass as we detach and head down to the surface. We’ll be heading home to the Venture soon and staying until the planet is safe. I have what I wanted.
But this isn’t how I thought it would be.
Jovan turns to me with a sympathetic look, as though he’s reading my mind.
“Don’t worry. They’ll soon realize how tough it is down there. When we send the shuttle in two months, they’ll be ready to come back. We’ll all be together again.”
Hopefully he’s right. Hopefully they’ll survive that long. But Beta is so small in Celeste’s arms. A tiny flame of life. So vulnerable.
It’s a smooth descent down to the surface, until we hit the lower atmosphere. Gray fog fills the windows as we judder through thick cloud, and we land with a bump. I step out of the shuttle to a gloomy world. It’s as dark here as the corridors of the Venture. But at least it’s not raining yet. The wind whips around me as I head down the metal stairs, and I hug myself. I won’t miss this cold. This unpredictable weather. We all get onto landbike trailers, which bounce along the path through the wood. Everyone stares at the trees nervously, but there’s nothing to see but branches and glowferns.