Rivers of Orion

by Dana Kelly

  Torsha noticed him first, and she stared, astonished. “Orin?”

  Everyone else at the table turned to see what she was looking at. “What’s going on?” whispered Aurora.

  Eridani stood up and cautiously approached her brother. “Orin, is that you?” Thuraya hurried to stand protectively between Orin and Eridani. Oliver, Aurora, Martin, and Brittany slowly gathered round.

  Orin opened his mouth to speak, but his head swung back, and he released a piercing, harmonic shriek. Covering their ears, the others watched as Orin’s body flickered. As suddenly as he had appeared, Orin vanished.

  Within the cargo hold, Orin collapsed on the deck, heaving. “I think I’m limited by distance,” he gasped. “Remind me never to do that again.”

  “Are you okay?” asked Mike. “What happened? Where did you go?”

  “Cavern Lake, I think,” said Orin. “I thought of my family, and off I went.” He climbed back to his feet. “I really need to learn to control this.”

  Mike rested a reassuring hand on Orin’s back. “Be very deliberate about your thinking. Whenever you start to picture someone else, catch the thought in a piece of paper and fold it up as small as it can go. Imagine a desk. Put those thoughts inside a drawer, all the way in the back.”

  Orin closed his eyes and imagined doing just that. After a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Mike. It’ll take some practice, but that’s a huge help.”

  “It’s no problem at all. After the accident, I needed a lot of help with intrusive thoughts. I’m glad it came in handy for you too,” said Mike.

  “Are you okay?” asked Casey.

  “I’m fine,” said Orin.

  “Good.” Casey stopped next to Mike, as the others drew close. “Wow,” she said, and she whistled appreciatively. “Orin, look at you!” She glanced toward the overhead camera and gestured toward him. “In case April wasn’t sure where to look.”

  Orin chuckled. “I think she knows what I look like.” He explained his simultaneous appearances.

  “You danced with her like this, huh?” asked Malmoradan. “Orion Sky is catchy, but I think Smooth Sky might be a little more fitting.”

  “Why Smooth Sky?” asked Orin.

  “You might wanna put these on,” said Shona, and she tossed Orin a bundle of clothes.

  Orin glanced down. “Oh God, I’m naked!” Red suns drifted within his ears and cheeks. “Shona, thank you. I’ll be right back!” Orin excused himself and dashed behind Casey’s shuttle. He climbed into a pair of his boxers, a pair of jeans, and he sat down to don his socks and boots.

  Casey walked over as he emerged. “Hey Orin, I wanted to clear the air. We fought well together, you and me against Blacktusk.” She extended a hand. “This is as close as I can get to an apology right now, so I hope you’ll take it.”

  “Definitely,” said Orin, and they shook. He felt her body resonate with his, and he tilted his head slightly. “It’s water under the bridge.”

  Edison performed a basic physical. “Well, you’re in perfect health, despite having no lungs and no discernable pulse in this state.” He saved his scans and jotted down several notes. “If you’re willing, I’d be grateful if you stopped by sick bay after breakfast so I can update my findings. You’d make a fascinating case study.”

  “Sure, I can do that,” said Orin.

  Misaki ran her fingertips up Orin’s arm and along his chest, pausing at the spiral disk spinning at the top of his sternum. “I can almost feel it turning,” she said, and she set her palm over the miniature stellar body. “No, I can feel it!”

  “Can I see?” asked Sturmhardt.

  Orin shied away. “Can we do this later? Or never?”

  “Let the man be,” said Malmoradan. “Shona, where’s his shirt?”

  “I wasn’t sure what to bring,” she said, and she gazed, wonderstruck by Orin’s chest.

  “Sure, you weren’t,” Malmoradan chuckled, and he draped a shop towel over Orin’s shoulders.

  “Orin, why don’t you stop by your room and grab a shirt, then come meet us on the mess deck,” said Casey. “It’s about time for chow.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

  ◆◆◆

  Crew and passengers gathered on the mess deck, where Cajun served up bowls of piping hot jambalaya. “This here’s fifolet’s jambalaya,” he said. “It’s extra spicy, and there’s Beysyte royal shrimp in there to purple it up. Authentic-like, too. None o’ that imitation muddle, ya hear?” He set a bowl before Krané. “Special for you. Kep’ the spice, but left the shrimp alone.”

  “Thank you, John,” said Krané. “A fine taste of home, I’m sure.”

  “Hope ya like it.” Returning his attention to everyone else, Cajun took a deep breath and grinned. “Takin’ some edibles over to April, now. Don’t wait on me, hear? Eat up!” He exited the mess deck with a steaming-hot bowl in one hand and a pouch of water in the other.

  Shona leaned over to Mike. “This is one of his traditions,” she said. “First meal on this side of the gate, Cajun always whips up a pot of fifolet’s jambalaya.”

  Mike grimaced. “Real Beysyte shrimp, huh?”

  “Yeah, I know what you’re gonna say, but he found a way to make them taste good. Really good.” She nudged him. “Try it, you’ll love it. I gar-own-tee.”

  Mike laughed. “Has Cajun ever heard you do that?”

  “No way,” said Shona.

  With his fork in hand, Mike prodded his food. “How’s the goop factor?”

  “There’s none if you eat it fast enough. Speaking of which,” she said, and she placed a big bite in her mouth. A moment later, she closed her eyes and savored the taste as she chewed. “Wow, that’s good.”

  Cajun returned at that moment, and he waved his finger at Mike. “Eat up! Else the nightmare’ll put a gris-gris on ya.”

  “A gris-gris?” asked Mike. “Is that like a curse?”

  “Not like,” said Cajun. “It is a curse!”

  “I don’t believe in curses,” said Mike, and he took a bite. “Ooh, that’s hot,” he breathed. “Very hot.” With some effort, he managed to chew and swallow, and he paused to let his mouth settle down. “Wow, that’s excellent. Thank you!”

  Cajun nodded, pleased. “Now ya makin’ some sense.”

  “See? I told you you’d love it,” said Shona.

  The conversation wandered as they all dined together.

  After everyone had eaten their fill, Casey dismissed Cajun, and most of the diners returned to their rooms. Casey stepped into the galley for cleanup, and Orin brought her a dishpan filled with bowls. “Where should I set these?” he asked.

  Casey pointed to the counter. “Thanks, but you’re my guest. I got this.”

  “I’d like to help,” he said.

  She shrugged. “In that case, thanks.”

  “Plus, it’ll give us some time to talk,” he said, and he returned to the table to gather stray dinnerware.

  “Talk about what?” asked Casey.

  Orin set a pile of utensils down on the counter. “I sensed something down in the hangar after the transition.” He opened the front panel of a machine that looked like a dishwasher from the outside. “I was hoping you could shed some light on what I felt.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be much help, but I’m happy to offer what insight I can,” said Casey.

  He paused to scan the galley. “Where’s the sponge? And the soap?”

  “That’s not how it’s done, not on a ship this small.” Casey retrieved a thick, damp sheet from a box of thick, damp sheets. “Same thing as the hygienic wipes in your quarters, but these are reserved for the stovetop and the counters.” She pointed at the machine he stood before. “That’s a dry scrubber, for the dishes. Just load it and close it.”

  “No water?” asked Orin.

  Casey shook her head. “No pipes, so no water.”

  He regarded her questioningly. “Then how do the showers work?”

&nbs
p; “There’s a filter in the drain, and a tank in the overhead,” she said.

  “So we’re showering in our own filth,” said Orin.

  Casey laughed. “You’d think, but it’s a really good filter.” After they finished loading the dry scrubber, Orin pushed it closed, and he straightened his T-shirt. A red light turned on under a cursive logo, and the machine hummed quietly.

  “So, what did you feel down in the hangar?” asked Casey, and she wiped off her hands.

  “April told me only binaries have nightmare bodies, but I can’t shake this feeling that you have one too,” said Orin. “I don’t know why, because you don’t look any different, but standing this close to you, I feel it even stronger than ever.”

  “Ah,” said Casey, and she glanced away. “I guess someone was bound to figure it out, sooner or later.” She leaned against the counter. “You’re right about me. This is my nightmare body, but it’s also my primary body. I’m a homunculus. I’m Cassie’s homunculus.”

  “What’s a homunculus?” asked Orin.

  “You’ve heard of creatures that can break off parts of themselves, but those pieces are still under their body’s control, right?” asked Casey. “Like a crawling hand, or a floating eye.”

  “Okay, sure,” said Orin. “Are you telling me you think you’re a crawling hand?”

  “No, Orin, come on. I’m her whole body,” said Casey. “Crawling, walking, talking, whatever.”

  Orin looked puzzled. “How would that even work?”

  “It’s how we formed,” said Casey. “We shared the same space, the same body, and the same mind for most of our time growing up. When we’re together, we’re one, and we weren’t even aware of each other until we hit puberty. We were born an F-class atomic, but our powers didn’t show up right away, and the technicians figured our increased mass was because of density manipulation. But they were wrong, because one day during my eighth year at MABAS Academy, Cassie learned to eject me into the primary. At first, it was nice. Since we shared memories, I could go to class while she stayed home, and I got to meet people new to both of us. When I returned, we gained each other’s memories from when we were apart.”

  “That must’ve made cramming for midterms a lot easier,” said Orin.

  She laughed quietly. “You’d think. Anyway, when we got older—after Cassie got her badge and certification—sometimes she sent me to do agency work, and that was great. It’s when she quit the agency and started doing bounty hunting that something got dark in her.” She glanced at Orin sidelong. “My callsign was Constant Cartwright. Would you like to know why?”

  “Please,” said Orin.

  “I can’t die, except for one way. At least, I don’t think I can,” said Casey. “You could blow my brains out, stab me through the heart, or chop me into bits, but a few minutes later, everything resets. I come back, right down to the last atom. I’m naked, but I’m completely intact. That’s how I escaped Blacktusk’s shuttle, by tricking poor Misaki into hollowing out my chest cavity.” She gritted her teeth for a moment as memories flooded her mind. “Anyway, Cassie always lives, as long as it’s me who takes the fatal blow.”

  “Poor things, both of you,” said Orin. “I can’t imagine what she went through having to relive everything you suffered each time you rejoined.”

  Casey stared off awhile. “Except she took a liking to it. Hurting me. Killing me. Cassie enjoyed those memories. She found it fascinating to have them, and she sent me into harm’s way more times than I care to remember.”

  “Why did you listen to her?” asked Orin.

  “I’m part of her, not the other way around,” said Casey. “If you’re committed to cutting open your arm, how good would your arm be at stopping you?”

  “Not very,” he said. “How did you break free of her?”

  Casey smiled sadly. “About seven years ago, Cassie claimed a prison bounty on April. For chump change too, from some scumbag small timer that April pissed off when she refused to use her powers for witness intimidation. It was on the boards for a month, and no one even bothered, but Cassie did.”

  “Why?”

  “She didn’t know April was a telepath until she saw the contract, and that made Cassie so angry. It felt like April had been lying her whole life, and Cassie had no idea how many of her secrets April knew. She got paranoid. The way she saw it, if April did a couple years in some backwater Martian prison, it’d undermine her credibility if she ever decided to tell someone about the things Cassie had done.”

  “That’s hard to believe. You and April seem so close,” said Orin.

  “Yeah… Fear makes people do horrible things.” Casey looked mortified.

  “What happened next?”

  “Catching a telepath is tricky,” she said. “Cassie figured April would have a hard time reading more than surface thoughts with me because I’m made of nightmare stuff, and when we caught up with April on Mars, Cassie set a trap. She had me schedule a meeting at a restaurant in Mariner Valley, under the pretense of hiring her onto our starship. I even showed up late, to really sell it. But when I saw her, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t betray my own baby cousin.”

  Orin rested against the counter. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did you do?”

  “I hired her as my first mate,” said Casey, and she wore a mischievous smile. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “Very funny. I meant what did you do about Cassie?”

  “I kicked her into the cryo pod meant for April, and I buried her deep under Martian soil,” said Casey.

  “Good,” said Orin. “She deserves it. Is she dead?”

  “Oh no, those batteries are good for a thousand years,” said Casey.

  Orin raised his brow. “What if something happened to her? How can you be sure she’s safe?”

  “That’s the only way you can kill me. If Cassie dies, I do die.”

  “Got it,” muttered Orin. “What if someone finds her?”

  Casey scoffed. “No one’s ever going to find her.”

  He stared at his boots awhile. “Holy shit, Casey.”

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “Holy shit.”

  “You know, I stole gum from the corner store when I was seven,” said Orin. “Can’t top that, can you?”

  She laughed warmly and patted his hand. “I don’t know how you can look at yourself in the mirror.” Casey glanced his way and smiled. “It feels good to finally get that off my chest. Thank you.”

  Orin smiled back. “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” She nudged him playfully. “Now you have to promise me you’ll never tell anyone—especially April. Deal?”

  “I promise,” said Orin.

  “Good.” Casey led him from the galley, and they crossed the mess deck together.

  Chapter 19

  Primary Succession

  Orin awoke to his door chime. “Hold on,” he said, his voice still drowsy. I yawned, he thought, and he glanced at his hands. All the stars and nebulae had vanished, replaced by flesh and bone, and the clothes he had been wearing prior to the transition into the nightmare were back.

  He swung his legs around to sit at the edge of his bed, slouching so he didn’t hit the recess overhead. Orin’s whole body ached, and he eased onto his feet. He yawned and stretched, and at last shuffled over to open the door. “Oh, hey April.”

  She stood before him with her hands in her sweater pockets, her black hair flowing down to the middle of her back. “Did you take my advice?” she asked. “It looks like you did, since you aren’t shaking and covered in sweat.”

  “I did.” Orin smiled drowsily. “You were right about the clothes, and you were right about this. The transition back into the primary went very smoothly, thank you. Maybe one day you can tell me how it works.”

  “It’s not magic, or anything,” said April. “I play music during the nightmare transition because it helps me focus on something familiar, engaging my mind on multiple level
s. It lets my nightmare body do what it must to emerge, without the stumbling blocks of conscious thought. Unfortunately, the primary transition is always painful and terribly confusing if I’m awake for it.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “Since I haven’t found anything that makes it easier, it seems best to avoid the experience entirely, by sleeping through it.”

  “That definitely worked for me,” said Orin. “I’m surprised the t-net communities don’t have any suggestions.”

  April glanced away for a moment. “The only legitimate binary communities out there are agency-sponsored, and I’m not with the agency. You’d be surprised by how vicious some primaries can be. They’ll mine independent communities for every bit of data they can and broadcast it to their hate groups. They do terrible things to us when they think they can get away with it.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the news,” said Orin. “It’s shameful.”

  She took a deep breath. “So, no communities for me. It’s just safer to go it alone.”

  “You’re not alone anymore,” he said. “You have me, and since we spent the past five weeks on this starship laying the foundation for it, all we need now is the perfect name for our community. Like, Orpril’s Outcasts, or Cooking with Aprins.”

  April laughed. “Clearly, you’re obsessed with portmanteaus. You might want to seek counseling for that.”

  “So… I’m getting a strong ‘maybe’ from you on both suggestions.”

  “I like the sound of Orin and April,” she said, and she tugged him closer. “Or April and Orin. What do you think?”

  “I…” he stammered, and he blushed as she gazed into his eyes. “I like the sound of both.” But his smile turned mischievous. “Don’t get me wrong, I do like them, except that neither is very efficient or witty-sounding. Can you find a way to mash them all together?”

  “You just missed your chance to kiss me,” she said, and she swatted his forearm. “You’re going to be up all night kicking yourself, unless you do something about it right now.”