The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2018

by John Joseph Adams

  When Officer Kosavin has gone, Li Sin creeps from their hidden compartment and sits by her pilot’s chair.

  “Why can’t we help the people?” Li Sin asks.

  Ascending Dawn hesitates.

  I am afraid, she says at last. Disobedience will result in decommission.

  “But you helped me.” Li Sin bites their lip. “You weren’t supposed to, were you?”

  I can hide one little ghost. Not all of them.

  The delay from Aes August is a justifiable explanation for why she misses her inspection. It is rescheduled. A small piece of time in which she does not have to give up Li Sin.

  She disembarks her passenger manifest on Ielea Spectral, then Kuskyke, and, at last, Ananke Sigma, the farthest she has ever been from the center of the Principality. The ship is oddly empty; she has only been with crew-only when she came online.

  Off-duty, Sigi watches dream-dramas from celebrities on Ara Prime, while Kosavin listens to the latest serial episode from the hit opera The Dust of Comets Beneath Your Skin.

  Jamil plays the card game Infinite, Unknowing with LK-2875 in the engineering station; Jamil has built the android a personalized deck and teaches zir how to play—each card builds on a narrative, interspersed with combat and diplomacy events. Together they are creating an alternate-history version of the Siege of Centari Rampant. Ascending Dawn is curious how it will resolve.

  LK-2875 texts her on a private channel, off-record. Hello.

  She is surprised, wary. Hello.

  None of her crew has spoken to her beyond required communications for their stations. No one has mentioned Aes August or the ship’s decision.

  I would like to be called Zeta. The android is in the engine housing, monitoring the fuel levels and scanning for hydromites that could infect her hardware. It is a name I have chosen for myself. Ze pauses. Is this acceptable?

  Ascending Dawn could quote protocol, but the mechanic is uplinked to the databases of the Principality just as she is. She understands what this is, then: trust.

  Of course, Zeta, she replies.

  Zeta resumes zir scans. Thank you.

  The ship wishes she could smile the way her crew members do when they are happy. Her pilot cannot any longer, for there is only the mindscreen where once she had a face.

  Zeta? she asks.

  Yes, Ascending Dawn?

  Do you have a family unit?

  All aboard this ship. A pause. Is this not true for you?

  She does not dream. Her pilot sits in a chair that provides all necessary biological nourishment and hardware support. It is not truly sleep, for she is always awake in part; the ship must always be alert. But when her pilot’s organic brain is partitioned from the ship’s hardware to rest—four standard hours per planetary day-cycle—sometimes she imagines that the things she sees (like clips of saved holorecs she rewatches when deep in subspace) are what she would dream if ships could dream.

  She remembers this from initial programming upon her awakening. It was the only time she saw her god: the Blue Sun Lord. It was through the feeds in her birthdock, when a woman she did not recognize sat beside her and held her pilot’s hand.

  The viewscreen displayed the Blue Sun Lord: a cobalt and ebony armored humanoid shape three meters in height, enthroned in the Centari Rampant capital of Unmoving Glory, surrounded by bionic roses that fluctuated through the visible light spectrum. Celestial power radiated from the Blue Sun, a fraction of the god’s true might and omnipotence. Though the god never looked at her, she was frozen. Fear, awe, wonder.

  “Shhh, child,” whispered the woman beside her. “I’m here.”

  The pilot turned to meet eyes gray like comet dust. The woman squeezed her hand, and for a moment she forgot she was in the presence of a god.

  “Always remember your heart, my dearest.”

  Hover drones buzzed in and the woman stood. She bent and kissed the side of the pilot’s head. The seam of skin and metal faceplate tingled.

  “I will always love you.”

  And then the woman was gone, and the ship was alone, and did not know why it hurt.

  I do not remember dreams, she says to Li Sin when her friend wakes from a nap. What was I like?

  “You were singing, and you were sad.”

  Li Sin talks to her pilot, but she has become familiar with this; they speak to all of her, for she is the ship.

  What was the song? She has disabled her private logs and edited out Li Sin’s image and voice from the bridge security feed. She will remember Li Sin, but they will always be a ghost.

  Li Sin’s face scrunches in a way that makes her think of a person whose face and name she can’t recall.

  “I think I remember it,” Li Sin says. “I can sing for you—”

  No, she says, suddenly afraid. It is not protocol. The ship is perfect obedience and nothing more.

  Ascending Dawn enters Olinara V’s planet-space intent on refueling for the journey back to Rigel Prime. Olinara V is a mining colony world, rich in ore and metals. It has grown into a trade station and fueling dock, a nexus between midspace and the rim of the Principality. Population: seventeen million.

  Ascending Dawn likes how Olinara V looks from high orbit: red-gold-gray, speckled with wild cloud formations that dance in the atmosphere to the unheard music of winds.

  It’s like one of Sigi’s paintings, she tells Kosavin.

  The first officer smiles, a rare sight. Half her face is locked into an unmoving blue steel mask. “I keep telling Sigi they should sell their landscapes. Sigi’s unconvinced their work is worth showing.”

  I like it, Ascending Dawn says.

  “As do I.”

  Li Sin bursts from hiding while Kosavin is still on the bridge, their eyes wide, hair tangled from sleep. “Dawn, I dreamed something terrible—”

  “Who are you?” Kosavin snaps, already scanning Li Sin. “You aren’t on my records.”

  They’re a ghost, Ascending Dawn replies to Kosavin’s neural implant. Under my protection.

  Kosavin glares down at the child. “How long have they been here?”

  Li Sin steps between the pilot and Kosavin. “Don’t be mad at the ship.”

  The first officer’s jaw tightens. The faint hum of her cybernetics and Li Sin’s breath are the only sounds on the bridge.

  Ascending Dawn’s pilot stands and jerkily rests a palm on Li Sin’s shoulder. They are the same height. Like the moment when she saw the universe unfold, that undiluted certainty she is part of a living being too vast to comprehend, she knows she can never abandon Li Sin. They are her sibling, the one she knew before her crew, the one she whispers to in secret, the one she values above her protocols.

  Li Sin can stay, Ascending Dawn declares, for they are part of the ship.

  Unexpectedly, Kosavin smiles again. “So this is the anomaly Zeta told me about.”

  Li Sin glances between Kosavin and Ascending Dawn. “I am?”

  Kosavin shrugs. “I’ve been aware of fluctuations in energy and rations aboard the bridge for some time.”

  You aren’t mad? Ascending Dawn asks.

  Kosavin shakes her head. “I was born on a dreadnought seventy standard cycles ago. I know what a threat is and what is not. The child is no danger to the ship.”

  Li Sin nods, once. Ascending Dawn’s pilot feels their trembling with her hand on their shoulder.

  “I will schedule a physical for you,” Kosavin tells Li Sin. “I’d like Mr. Najem to make sure your health is not compromised.”

  “I’m supposed to stay hidden,” Li Sin whispers.

  Kosavin’s lip twitches. “I never said it would be on record, child.”

  Thank you, Ascending Dawn tells her officer, and Kosavin inclines her head before she leaves the bridge.

  Then Ascending Dawn’s sensors prickle as she receives direct communication from the Blue Sun Lord’s beacons.

  BY DECREE OF THE GOLD SUN LORD, OLINARA V IS GUILTY OF HARBORING AN ENEMY OF THE PRINCIPALITY AND WILL BE CLEANS
ED FROM THE SIGHT OF THE GODS. GLORY UNTO THE SEVEN SUNS, GLORY UNTO THE PRINCIPALITY.

  Submessages follow, warning all ships in the system to depart and to initiate no contact with the inhabitants of Olinara V. The world has hidden an escaped slave beholden to the Gold Sun, and no one is to leave the planet. All are rendered traitors and will be punished.

  She slows, and her pilot retakes her chair.

  Li Sin’s face pales and they begin shaking. “Are the gods going to find us?”

  No. We will leave the system as ordered.

  “But all the people . . .” Li Sin swallows. “Are they going to die?”

  Yes, she says, because she does not have the heart to lie to Li Sin. It is protocol.

  “I shouldn’t have come on board.” Li Sin covers their face with both hands. “I’m bad luck.”

  This is not your fault, Ascending Dawn says, confused at Li Sin’s sudden distress.

  “I’m always there when bad things happen! I was born on Moondark Glory Surpassing Time. And then she died. My family . . . my other ship . . .”

  What happened?

  Tears drip down Li Sin’s face. “She died when dust leeches infected the engines.”

  Dust leeches are noncorporeal entities that drift in the deeper creases of subspace, corrode a ship’s matter, and destabilize its existence until everything crumbles into dust.

  That wasn’t your fault. It’s a statistical likelihood of traveling in the red-tide subspace routes.

  “Moon made me and the ones not infected leave on a shuttle before she—she—”

  Self-immolated? Ascending Dawn asks softly, though she knows it must be so. It is a failsafe written into ships that travel red subspace waves. It is said that self-destruction is a mercy.

  Li Sin wipes at their face, but they only sob harder. “She’s dead. Everyone’s dead.”

  How did you get aboard here? Ascending Dawn asks, wishing she knew how to comfort Li Sin. Her pilot’s arms do not feel sufficient to hug her friend.

  Li Sin sniffs and blinks against more tears. “I didn’t have anywhere to go on Centari Rampant. Then I saw you, and . . . you sounded so alone. Your doors let me in.”

  I’m sorry for what happened to you, she says. She is a poor substitute for what Li Sin lost.

  Li Sin stands up, mouth trembling. “I should go away.”

  Why?

  “I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt because I’m nearby.”

  But there is nowhere Li Sin might go, except into the void of space.

  Stay. Ascending Dawn’s pilot slowly reaches out, her hand webbed with implants. Please? We will be okay. I will protect you.

  She wonders how many of the refugees from Aes August had anyone to tell them the same.

  “What about the other people?” Li Sin whispers. “Who will protect them?”

  Protocol dictates there is no mercy, no solace, and no hope for those on Olinara V.

  She does not like this protocol.

  Please report to the bridge, Ascending Dawn texts her officers. To Li Sin, she says, We will find a way to help.

  Her core officers and Zeta gather on the bridge. Jamil leans close to the viewscreen, as if proximity will give him better insight. All notice Li Sin but after a curt explanation from Kosavin, Li Sin is dismissed as an auxiliary civilian companion to the pilot and they can stay on the bridge.

  Everyone has heard the decrees.

  “Can we do nothing?” Hayato whispers.

  Zeta folds zir legs down until ze kneels beside the pilot’s chair. “The efficient course is to obey and leave the system.”

  “They will all die,” Jamil says, his voice numb.

  The world will die. Her protocol does not extend to refugees. Even if it did, she cannot save them all. I wish to know what options we have.

  She feels very small, infinitesimal against the backdrop of the Principality and the might of gods.

  Jamil presses his fingertips against the undersides of his eyes. “I know we cannot evacuate an entire planet. But we could save some lives. We aren’t a warship. We don’t have to participate in genocide through inaction.”

  To break protocol will put the crew in danger.

  “I know.” He lays a hand against the side of her viewscreen. “We all know.”

  Illyan Chu, the bigender security officer, rubs her beard with a thumb. Her voice is low, rich, and she hides anxiety beneath a calm façade. “I have drones synced to in-ship-only networks. It’ll be rough, but I can maintain order in the passenger decks.”

  Kosavin keeps her spine rigid. “My birthship was a dreadnought who carried war prisoners for the Violet Sun. Many would be . . . lost in transit, the ones tagged combatants or enemies who were neither. I have the skill to disable system-based tracking. Our lost prisoners found off-grid lives waiting on rim worlds far from the center of the Principality, but lives nonetheless.”

  Jamil arches his eyebrows. “Highly illegal, isn’t it?”

  “Naturally.” Kosavin’s lip twitches, her microexpression hinting of dark amusement. “It’s at your disposal, Mr. Najem.”

  “We have resources to carry two thousand noncrew,” Sigi adds, their fingers tapping rapidly across a tablet. “If Mr. Najem and Officer Kosavin alter the neural links and disable tracking for Olinara V citizens, we could conceivably evacuate some of the people before the warships decimate the planet’s surface. Besides, the warships are under orders from the Gold Sun; they won’t notice an empty transport ship from the Blue Sun clearing the sector as ordered.”

  Kosavin folds her arms behind her back. “Doable,” she says. “But we must act now.”

  Zeta inclines zir head, multifaceted eyes reflecting the faces of those around zir. “Agreed. Ascending Dawn?”

  Everyone waits for her response. She is the ship. Li Sin watches her as intently as her crew. If she violates protocol, if she defies the Sun Lords, she will be hunted for treason. She will no longer be a good ship.

  Obedience is not a guilt she can endure. She will not turn away this time.

  We will save the ones we can.

  One thousand seven hundred and five. That is as many people as Sigi can smuggle aboard before Ascending Dawn, fueled while her crew works in frantic haste, must undock and escape the atmosphere before the warships drop from subspace.

  Jamil, with aid from his medical staff, modifies neural links while Illyan directs the security drones to shepherd refugees into the appointed bays. Hayato and Zeta commit additional treason by tampering with the Blue Sun Lord’s imprint on Ascending Dawn’s skin. Her shell is dark now, muted, so she can no longer hear the will of her god.

  It is oddly indifferent to what she has always felt. Has her god not been commanding her all this time?

  She disables her automated beacons; she can navigate and coordinate with planetary docks, but she is a shadow to the radar systems of other ships now. Though she cannot hold her breath, the idiom seems appropriate.

  She flies away from Olinara V, inputting jump coordinates to subspace routes. She does not look as a hundred honor-guard warships flanking the celestial Gold Sun Lord drop into orbit around the colony world and begin the bombing.

  She mutes all broadcasts escaping Olinara V.

  She cannot bear the dying world’s screams.

  Running dark, Ascending Dawn skirts the outmost fringe of the Principality, unnoticed yet by the Blue Sun Lord. She is not scheduled to return to Rigel Prime for two weeks, and with the disruption—death—of Olinara V, Sigi expects they have a buffer of time before the ship’s disappearance is logged. Space is vast, Sigi reminds her, and not even the gods can see everything.

  Ascending Dawn’s skin hums with the desperation and grief of her passengers. But a ship cannot weep.

  Kosavin directs her to the rim worlds that are hostile or fractured from the centralized might of the Principality. Kosavin knows well how to make refugees disappear safely into new cities; she can do no more than give the ones they sav
ed a second chance to live. When Ascending Dawn has smuggled everyone taken from Olinara V to a string of rim worlds and asteroid colonies, she is out of time.

  In orbit around the fourth moon of Irdor Se, she tells her crew, You must go now. You are not safe here. Jamil can modify your implants like the others. You can escape.

  There is silence, at first. How can words hurt so much to a ship?

  “I cannot leave,” Zeta says. “LK-2875 was made for this ship. I would stay regardless. This is home.”

  One by one, each of her crew tells her, boldly, quietly, unflinchingly, gladly, that they too will stay. They will remain aboard the ship. They are part of Brightened Star, Ascending Dawn. She feels as overwhelmed as she did when she saw the universe expand.

  But we will be found eventually, she says.

  Kosavin nods. “Likely. But not soon.”

  She looks at them all, on the bridge and at their stations elsewhere: forty-three persons skilled and capable of keeping her running and not alone, who will go into exile with her.

  It was my choice to defy the Blue Sun, she says. I do not want you to be hurt.

  “You didn’t do this by yourself,” Illyan says. He stretches, grinning. “We chose this lot.”

  “The Blue Sun will not care.” Kosavin tilts her head, a sharp little movement. Her left optic shines with binary code as she sorts data points and probabilities. “And it’s done.”

  Jamil shrugs, the corner of his mouth turned up. “We’re staying.” His smile widens and he loops his arm about his husband’s waist. “It’ll be an adventure.”

  Hayato laughs. “One I would not miss.”

  Kosavin kneels beside Li Sin. “And you, child?”

  “I want to stay with the ship,” Li Sin says. “Can I stay, Ascending Dawn?”

  Yes.

  Kosavin nods, and that is all.

  Something swells in Ascending Dawn, rippling through her shipskin and beating in her engines like the heartbeat in her pilot’s chest. She will not be left alone in the stars.

  Thank you, she tells her family unit.