by Holly Ice
Holly Ice
The Approach
Courage Colony Book One
First published by Black Arrow Books 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Holly Ice
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
First edition
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Contents
Author Note
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Author Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Author Note
If you enjoy this book, you can download and read the origin story behind the Earth’s collapse in the novel length prequel Fatal Glitch. Get your free digital copy by signing up to my newsletter (link provided at the end of this book).
Please also note that I’m a British author, and use UK English spelling and grammar throughout this series.
Dedication
To all the stars in the night’s sky: for always bringing perspective, comfort, and hope.
Chapter 1
Micah rolled over in his sleep. The covers slipped to show his bare, muscular back, lined with shallow red nail marks. Our underwear and wrinkled work jumpsuits stared at me from his cabin floor, and my gut squirmed. I had to stop doing this.
Time to go.
I pushed the covers back and pulled my undies over my hips. The metal decking chilled my toes, the ship’s ambient temperature too cold for bare skin. Supposedly winter mornings on Earth were breathtaking, but that wasn’t much comfort right now.
‘Leaving already, Errai?’
Crap. He was awake. I resisted the urge to cover myself and faced him.
His head propped up on an elbow, Micah’s thick dark hair fell over his heavily lashed brown eyes. Stubble shadowed his strong jaw. He licked his lips as he waited, ready for round four… or was it five? Didn’t matter. If I touched him now, my skin would crawl.
‘Shift starts in ten.’ I stepped into my grey coveralls and zipped the front, careful to move my tangled hair out the line of fire.
‘Right.’ Micah nosed back into his pillow.
‘I can’t be late. Benjie’s on shift.’ Even if he wasn’t, I wanted out of here.
Micah huffed into the pillowcase.
‘Bye, Micah.’
My clammy skin was an all-too-physical reminder of what we’d done all night, but I’d have to wash in the food hall bathroom. Benjie hated me enough when I was on time.
I shoved my feet into my boots and ran my fingers through the snarls in my hair. A few black strands fell to the floor. Good enough.
The door slid open and I stepped out.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of blue-and-black coveralls – Ludis, pushing off the wall. His shaggy dark hair and broad shoulders were unmistakable. I groaned and braced for the lecture. I should have known he’d track me down when I wasn’t in my room ahead of our usual morning chat.
‘Again?’ Ludis brushed dust from one of my shoulders. ‘You know he doesn’t think you’re anything special.’
I swatted him away. ‘Leave it. My conscience has the lecture covered.’
I strode down the empty corridor, the bright lights and stark grey walls biting into my eyes. Mornings sucked.
‘Is he worth this morning-after grump?’ Ludis asked.
Self-loathing, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. He never quit as it was. Convincing him to back down was near impossible, even without the extra ammunition.
He caught my arm and pulled me to a stop by the large blue ‘C-8’ which marked the deck. I glanced up the stairs and sighed. So much for getting to work on time.
‘You need to dump him. He makes you miserable, and his dick-dipping reputation does you no favours.’
‘Going celibate won’t help me either.’ And if I stuck my nose up at Micah, that’s what I’d be left with.
‘Those aren’t your only choices.’
I just looked at him. They were my only options, and he knew it. Over the years, he’d had many well-meaning crusades about my friends, my academic choices, and almost everything in his own life, but my love life couldn’t be fixed with rosy optimism, not when I was one of only two kin kids in my generation, and the only one with self-respect.
‘How about you, Ludis? Met any nice guys lately?’ Choices for a gay man aboard this spaceship were almost as limited as mine.
He blushed. ‘Fine. I’ll drop it.’ We started up the stairs and he smiled, showing the dimples in his square face. ‘At least I’ll be the first to try today’s breakfast.’
I shook my head. ‘Brave man.’
‘Come on, you make the best meals.’
‘The shift heads disagree.’
He shrugged. ‘So dazzle them. They’ll come around.’
He was tireless. ‘I’ll think about it.’
We climbed the floors to C-6 at speed, driving away my morning yawns, and Ludis’s advice. At the top, I wet my lips and enjoyed the silence. First shift would be in bed for another thirty minutes before they’d swarm the food hall and demand food.
I glanced at Ludis as we crossed the circular deck. ‘You really tracked me down and waited outside the door to complain about Micah?’
‘I like your angry morning face.’
‘I’m not angry.’ I jabbed the food hall door button and locked it open for the morning rush. Scratched silver tables and chairs glinted in the overhead lights, already wiped clean.
‘Miserable, then?’
Eight hours with Benjie lay ahead. Did he expect enthusiasm? I plotted a path through the tables, toward the serving counter which separated seating from the kitchen. A large screen to its right housed hundreds of shifting Earth recipes and drew me like a black hole. My stomach growled at the vibrant, juicy, steaming plates of wonderful food with their flavour requirements listed below. I swiped through, ogling photos until I found one which made me smile: blueberry pancakes, drizzled in syrup.
Ludis nodded at the screen. ‘Fruit and sugar. Your favourite.’
‘Yep.’ Shame I was too late to eat until after my shift.
He zoomed in. ‘Wish I knew what it smelt like.’
He wasn’t alone. The photos burst with colour and life, taken in the days when humans had had access to real food. Scientists tried to replicate the flavour, but I doubted the algae, bugs, and limited garden produce we made palatable were a close match. Ludis was right – I was grouchy.
Benjie slapped the counter. He must have been hiding in the kitchen. His leathery olive skin was further wrinkled by a glare, and his mouth was a thin line in his straggly white beard. ‘Head out of the stars, kin kid. You’re late, and I’m not doing all the work.’
‘Coming,’ I said, l
ocking on the pancake recipe.
Benjie retreated to his perch behind the food processor, where he had enough cover to finish his breakfast and get some shut-eye, the hypocrite.
‘Hungry, Ludis?’ I rounded the counter but stopped when I heard chattering voices coming this way. Early risers, and that haughty drawl could only belong to Yara.
‘You okay?’ Ludis asked.
‘It’s tank kids.’ The worst kind.
Benjie could be a cantankerous ass, but Yara’s friends could be downright cruel. I ran fingers through my messy hair and cursed at each snag. Yara had already caught me leaving Micah’s room last week. If she knew we hooked up more frequently than a one-off thing, she’d taunt me for weeks, and the hair was a major giveaway.
‘Cover for me.’ I backed through the open doorway, into the machinery room that was as close to a kitchen as the Courage got. My alchemy lab.
The dried food shaper was a large silver cylinder with blue, yellow, and green stains around the outlet, splash from the last meal to dribble from the spout. Wet, too, which meant Benjie had left it for me to clean up after him. How kind. I wiped the excess and stared into the reflective surface, scraping my worst tangles flat and yanking my hair into braids. There, respectable.
‘Hello! We’re hungry out here!’ Yara yelled.
Her voice grated, but I smiled, checked the smaller kitchen screen, and adjusted the various taste, nutrient and colour settings until these pancakes were far from the carefully crafted blend that should make up a sweet breakfast. The extra complaints would be worth it.
A stool creaked. I peered around the machine. Benjie had twisted in his seat to check on me, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Porridge dribbled into his beard, though his eyes blazed as strong as his alcohol-fuelled rages.
‘I saw you preening.’ He dropped his spoon in the bowl and shoved a clean plate into my hand. ‘Stop hiding and get the food out.’
‘I was only…’ My free hand hovered over the buttons.
‘Perfecting it, were you?’ He went back to his porridge. ‘Leave it alone. You know, I’ve never heard a compliment on your work. I think you make it worse with your tweaking. I have a mind to tell the captain, too.’
He meant he hadn’t heard a compliment from another tank kid. He likely never would. Most hated biological children on principle.
‘I’ll plate them up. Calm down.’
He’d never be this pushy if my parents were the ones waiting. Still, I held the plate under the spout and hit the glowing green start button since it was the quickest way to shut the old man up.
The machine whirred and rattled on the metal counter until it dribbled out brown liquid in semi-solid globs and spat thick syrup-like amber on top. I waited for the steaming pile to settle and then slid the next plate under the spout until I had four stacks of awful food to inspect. They didn’t smell as bad as the algae grow rooms could, but close enough, and the yellow colouring had run out toward the end, giving the last meal a blue tinge. I’d save it for Ratan since Yara was shadowing him like a loyal, drooling pet.
Ashoka and Siti trailed behind the others, Siti’s sure-footed security-trained stride at odds with her suddenly hung head and twitchy eyes as she spotted me. Ashoka’s step was a direct contrast, all cool relaxation as he swung to a stop at the counter, a permanent grin on his face below his head of bouncing, boyish curls. Though, as I approached the counter, he paused pleasantries to squint at the pancakes.
Yara tapped her foot, her thick curls jolting with impatience, while Ratan’s expression was so blank it seemed bored. They weren’t a natural couple.
I plonked the worst mixture under Ratan’s nose while Ashoka got the best.
Light danced in Ashoka’s dark eyes, but Yara… I stifled a giggle. Her full lips were curled and her pert nose was scrunched into an ugly snarl. I could almost see her inner debate: grab the disgusting portion for herself, or leave it for Ratan to endure?
Ludis eyed the food from where he leaned against the recipe screen. His mouth twitched, but he returned Ratan’s nod. ‘Morning.’
‘You already eaten, Ludis?’
He shook his head.
Ratan shooed me. ‘Don’t leave him wanting.’
I hesitated. Despite his rounder face and shorn hair, Ratan’s voice was a sombre echo of Micah’s. Their thick eyebrows and strong noses made the biological brothers a near mirror image. I still wasn’t sure how their social parents had convinced the previous captain to let them implant a sibling embryo to their first child. It limited diversity at least as much as my birth. Yet they didn’t face the same fallout.
Ratan raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering why I hadn’t moved.
I hurried into the kitchen, made sure Benjie’s attention was on his porridge, then quickly refilled the colouring and reset the recipe values. Ludis’s plate came out as perfectly flavoured blueberry pancakes, a fair approximation of the photo. Or at least I thought so. No one had tasted real pancakes with eggs and milk in living memory, so it was more opinion than certainty.
Ludis shielded his plate from the others and inhaled the rising steam. ‘Thanks, Errai.’
Ashoka grinned at the bluest pancake stack. ‘You know blueberries aren’t supposed to turn the whole pancake blue, right?’ He gave his brown pancakes to Ratan and took the blue pile for himself. Yara visibly relaxed. ‘What an adventure. Got a spoon?’ Ashoka peered down the counter to the cutlery basket. ‘Never mind.’ He passed spoons to his friends and used his to push deep into the first pancake, swallowing its heaped contents in one loud gulp. ‘Not the same calibre as Raul’s shift, but edible.’ He winked, as if bestowing the greatest compliment.
On his second bite, the ship’s lights shut off, blue, off, and blue again – the emergency signal. We turned to the recipe screen. The pancake photo was gone, hidden behind auto-generated subtitles scrolling past in all caps, the captain’s calm, measured speech accompanying them through the speakers: ‘Urgent Courage news. All assemble in the food hall. No exceptions.’
Ashoka scraped his plate. ‘Already here. Might as well finish eating, right?’ He swallowed his last pancake and settled into a chair at the nearest table.
‘If this counts as food,’ Ratan said.
Still, he joined Ashoka. Yara claimed a seat beside Ratan, and Siti followed her as if pulled by an invisible string. Their pancakes were forgotten as they read the repeating text.
Even Benjie emerged. He found himself a seat in the corner, where he promptly rubbed sleep from his eyes. He missed the beard porridge, though, and that stuff set like rock.
‘Planning to stand for the whole meeting?’ Ludis chewed his last pancake and ran his finger through the remaining syrup.
‘I can sit.’ We claimed a table toward the back, where I tried to ignore Siti nodding and fawning over everything Yara said. Did she have no dignity?
‘Any clue what this is about?’ Ludis asked. His frown was deep enough to flare my own worries.
‘No, but it has to be big if it’s this short notice. It’s been years since…’
Ludis’s eye twitched, and I cursed under my breath. I shouldn’t have said anything. The last meeting like this was after his dad died.
I tensed as the room hushed. ‘That was quick.’
Captain Rima Jabir strode into the room, her dark lips a thin line and her blue eyes focused on a small space between tables. She turned in place and nodded to us, Benjie, and Yara’s group, but didn’t relax.
The remaining committee members trickled in behind and split into smaller groups to find tables. They chatted about ship systems and the latest gossip, nothing big enough to require a ship meeting. The contrast between their hunched and slumped forms and Rima’s rigid attention was unnerving.
Rima didn’t sit. She waited for the 982 souls on board this space bucket to drag themselves up or down decks and through the food hall doors. She offered smiles and nods to each sector as they arrived – health in their red coveralls, civil service in blue,
security in brown, and so on – but she didn’t say a word.
Her silence kept the growing crowd’s volume to mutters and whispers and pulled at my throat. What was the news?
A hand rubbed my back in greeting. I stilled, then followed it up to greasy black-and-green coveralls and dark hair that matched my own. ‘Hi, Dad. You got here fast.’ He was the first maintenance worker to arrive. Normally maintenance were relegated to the bowels of the ship, monitoring the gardens, the engine, and life support. ‘Was there a hull breach?’
He took a seat beside me, joining our near-empty table. ‘Hey, kiddo. No, nothing so exciting. Had a cosmetic job in the cabins.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘What did they want fixed?’ The idiots on this ship asked for nanite packs to mend the smallest imperfections. The carefully coded microscopic computers kept the ship looking nice, but buffing out scratches was a waste of time and resources. They had far more important roles, like atmosphere scrubbing and replacing burnt-away radiation shielding. I hated to imagine what would happen if we were short at the wrong moment.
Dad shrugged. ‘A kid broke a bathroom door keypad. His parents were so panicked they forced the door to get him out.’
Another waste. They should have called maintenance to bypass the keypad. I was about to ask for the full story when my eyes were drawn to the other black-and-green-overalled workers as they found their seats.
Quinn’s trim frame, dark complexion, and cheeky smile was always a draw, but he ducked his head, his smile twisting into a deep frown when I caught his eye. Even after a year apart, he couldn’t look at me, and I still couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or dislike.
The now-unlocked food hall doors shut behind the maintenance workers, signalling we were all accounted for.
‘You know what this is about, Dad?’
He inclined his head. ‘Listen.’
Captain Rima Jabir opened her arms. ‘I’m glad you’re all here.’ Her focus lingered on families who had recently lost someone to illness or old age. ‘Too often, these group meetings are a sign something has gone wrong, that we have lost someone dear to us.’ Rima turned to Ludis’s mother, Aina, who’d found a seat a few tables over beside my mum, then Ludis, no doubt also remembering the loss of his dad, but Ludis pointedly faced a wall.