by CJ Birch
After the doctor attends to the crew—turns out they were asleep—and everyone wakes up, I usher the senior crew into the officers’ mess for a meeting. This is a big decision that I don’t want to make alone.
We don’t have enough room for all of us to fit around one of the tables, so Yakovich and Mani push two tables together. I squeeze in beside Hartley and the doctor, while Mani takes a seat on the opposite side.
“Okay. What do you guys think?”
“I think they’re great,” says Hartley at the same time Yakovich says, “I don’t trust them.”
“I’m with Yakovich.” I look around the table. Foer and Mani share a look. Dr. Prashad, as always, keeps to himself, choosing to keep his opinion off his face.
“Why do you always have to assume the worst?” Hartley asks. “What if they are here to help us? Good does exist, you know, though maybe not in your world.” He frowns at me. It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. And I know he’s afraid he won’t get a chance to check out their ship. Hartley’s that kid who would go with a stranger if he had a cool toy to show him. Hartley’s very lucky he grew up on Beta and not some Earth city. He wouldn’t have made it past puberty.
Yakovich and I are very similar in our views. Everyone’s an enemy out to get us until proved otherwise.
Mani raises his hand. “Hartley’s right.” He keeps it raised even after he’s spoken. When no one argues with him, he lowers it. “If they wanted to poach our ship like a Burr, they would’ve already. Why make friends with us?”
“Mani has a point,” says Dr. Prashad. “If you want my opinion, we should be cautious, but I see no reason why we shouldn’t take their help.”
“It beats the alternative.” Foer looks around the table for confirmation.
Mani nods vigorously. “The last thing we want is to be stuck on that planet.”
Yakovich sighs. She’s starting to relent. I know she’d much rather stay on the ship. I would too. But I hate having debts. And letting them help us without payment is a debt. It’s a bad way to start in this galaxy. Who’s to say they won’t come calling for a return someday?
“How long will it take the ship to get up and running, Hartley?”
He exchanges a grim look with Foer. “At least four weeks. And that’s if everything goes to plan. We don’t even know if their parts will be compatible with the Persephone. Every system that is working has been running on emergency power for a day. We need to do an entire overhaul and diagnostic run, and that alone takes two weeks to do properly.” He takes a breath. “And we want to do it thoroughly, or else what’s the point in getting help? We could be halfway back to the Posterus and lose a major system, and then we won’t have any help.”
“I realize we need help. That’s not the problem.”
“Why are you so against them?” asks Mani.
“I’m not against them.” I’m against help in general. I know this about myself. It’s not a very attractive trait in a first officer. In fact, it could be considered downright disastrous for my rank. “I’m worried about owing a debt we can’t repay.” True, but not the whole truth. When I was growing up, my grandfather used to use an expression, all that glitters isn’t gold. And right now I’m worried about how glittery the illya look to everyone.
I adjourn the meeting to think. After all, the decision rests with me. I’m in charge now. As much as I hate it, I’m going to have to suck it up.
I end up on the track. I’d be running if we still had showers, but they aren’t essential as much as they should be for some of the crew. So I stand with my head against the glass, looking out at the ship bay. I know what I have to do. I just don’t like it. If I say no, then I strand my crew on a hostile planet. Vonn didn’t sound so thrilled to see us here. Who’s to say they’ll even let us land? What if they take the Persephone and imprison us?
But if I do say yes, what happens if things go wrong? What if they aren’t what they appear? Is this what Jordan feels like when she has to make a tough decision? She makes it look so easy. And she always makes the right one.
I nearly jump a meter when I hear a throat clear behind me. It’s Hartley. He shrugs and joins me at the window. He doesn’t say anything. As the silence spreads between us, it makes me happy to have the company. It’s rare for Hartley to keep his thoughts to himself, and I appreciate that he sees that I need it.
After a few more minutes he nudges me. “Vonn offered to show us around their ship.” It’s both an invitation and a request for permission. With this possibility on the line, I’m even more surprised Hartley kept quiet as long as he did. His first chance to examine alien technology up close is making him almost explode from excitement. His eyes are bright and eager even in this light. He’s radiating anticipation. “It might help you get a better feel for them. Make an informed decision?”
“Plus you really want to see what makes their ship go.”
His head bobs up and down. “More than you’ll ever know.”
I look back out at the ship. I remember standing at this window with Jordan right before we embarked for the Posterus. It was the last time we’d ever see Alpha, and she asked me why I’d signed up for the mission. I certainly got my wish; I’ll never have to worry about being a shadow. My grandfather may have commanded the ships that brought us to the Belt, but in the last two weeks I’ve been part of the most important discoveries in our species’ history. The only problem is, no one back home will ever know it.
“Hey, Hartley, why’d you decide to come on the mission? You could’ve stayed back on the Belt and lived with fame and glory.”
He rests his hands on the rail and peers up through the window. “True. And I thought about it. How great would it be to run the physics department at the Alpha Academy? They offered, you know?” His smile is shy. “But I knew if I stayed I’d be the same person I always was. I grew up on Beta. My parents worked in the factories, and we all knew I could do more than that. School came really easy to me, so I worked as hard as I could so I wouldn’t end up like my mom and dad. Dead at age fifty-two and forty-five. And it worked.” He shrugs. “I made it out. But I never got a chance for a normal life. That’s why I came out here—to redefine who I am.”
“Yeah, out here you get to be the guy who saves my life.” He blushes when I say it. I’ve never seen him blush. “I never thanked you for that. If you hadn’t reached for my hand, I’d have fallen into the pit and been ejected with the core.” I’m not the crying type. I can get angry and react in an instant, but positive emotions? I’m really good at burying those deep. But I can feel myself tearing up, and I don’t want it to come out in my voice, so I nudge him and walk toward the chute. As we’re climbing, it finally feels safe to use my voice. “Thanks, Hartley.”
“You’re welcome, Ash.”
* * *
The illya’s ship is the strangest place I’ve ever seen. It’s like walking into a living thing. The walls seem to breathe, and the floors yield with each footstep. I’m with Hartley, Yakovich, and the doctor. They invited us to tour some nonessential areas of their ship. I wouldn’t trust guests on our bridge either. But we won’t be seeing engineering, which has Hartley bummed out. Not for long. The first place Vonn shows us is the main throughway, which is similar to the concourse on the Posterus, but ten times bigger. It’s like stepping into one of the jungles on the planet. Vegetation is everywhere. Trees tower above us, probably from the planet, because they’re as tall as the ceiling, which must be several kilometers up. Plants and vines fill out receptacles lining the avenue. Some climb the trees, others the walls. If you’d told me I was on a planet I might actually believe you.
The place is deserted. If it weren’t for the vegetation our voices would echo throughout the great room.
“This is our common space where we meet and converse with each other.” Vonn points to the balconies above us with benches covered in colorful cushions. We sometimes even take our meals here. It was built because it reminded our people of home.”
“Where is everyone?” Yakovich asks.
Vonn smiles, but the way he looks around, catching all the emptiness with his eyes, it’s not a happy smile. “We all work during this hour.”
Yakovich nods, but like me, she doesn’t appear convinced.
Then Vonn perks up. “Why don’t I show you where we prepare our meals? We are celebrated for our food.” Vonn leads us off to the side. Between two trees is a hidden corridor. As we meander through the halls, we don’t meet a single person. Not until we reach their kitchens do we encounter any illya.
Two are standing behind a giant stone in the middle of the room. The top surface is flat, but the sides round into the floor, where a sort of moat allows for food and water runoff.
The two chefs have their heads bent together. They’re quietly working and chatting, and one looks like he’s laughing. They could even be gossiping, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. The computer Vonn uses to translate needs to be pointed toward the speaker. They don’t sound anything like the avians from the planet—no harsh or guttural tones. This is more like the birdsong we heard up in the trees. It’s almost like they’re singing to each other.
Vonn stops in front of the stone and expands his arms. “This is where we prepare our food. And these are our chefs.” The two chefs don’t even bother looking up from what they’re doing. They carry on as if we weren’t even here. “They’re preparing our evening meal.” Before he can go any further, Hartley is peppering him with questions.
“What’s the stone do? Is it conductive? Does it have its own heat source, or do you heat it some other way?”
Vonn blinks for a moment, digesting all those queries. It’s a side effect of dealing with Hartley. I’m convinced his mind works ten times faster than everyone else’s. “The stone is a superconductor, heated by water from beneath. The steam off our cooking in turn heats much of the ship.” He points to the exhaust above the stone. “It takes very little energy to heat the stone, and it stays hot evenly across its surface.”
And we’ve lost Hartley as he asks more and more questions about the process. I hadn’t thought about how much we can learn from these people. They’ve been space travelers much longer than we have, and it’s obvious their technology is centuries ahead of ours. Perhaps it isn’t such a bad idea to say yes.
Chapter Six
Jordan
“New recruits?” I ask Tup as I pick my way through the food in front of me. Buckets with utensils are placed every few feet along the table, but they’re not like anything I’ve ever seen before. There’s a small wooden mallet and a sheath of metal.
Tup picks up one of the mallets and smashes the moldy rock. Inside is a bright-red hairball. He turns the mallet around and uses the top of the handle to pry the hairball out, then rolls it in the bright-yellow sauce and pops it into his mouth. He hums and smacks his thick lips together. Sarka and I share a look of revulsion.
“A siren means we’ve picked up a ship and they’re about to go through intake.”
A ship. God, I hope it’s not the Persephone. Although if it is, we’ll have allies to help us get out of here. Then a thought occurs to me. “What happens to the people who resist intake?”
His mouth is full as he says, “Try the cornu. They’re especially good today.” He pushes one of the moldy rocks toward me.
I push it toward Sarka. “You first. I double-dog dare you.”
“You’re such a baby.” He rummages through the pile of rocks like he’s choosing which oyster has the pearl. His fingers pluck a medium-sized rock, and I watch in disgust as he smashes the top off with the mallet and pries the hairball out. “Does it matter which sauce?”
Tup nods and points to the yellow sauce. “You eat cornu only with beva.”
Sarka nods, his expression grave. He slathers the thing in beva and, without hesitating, shoves the whole thing into his mouth. He chews, nodding a little, then in a more exaggerated manner. “You’re right. That is good.” He also hums as he sifts through the rocks again, looking for his next choice. “Jordan, don’t be a baby. Try it.”
Heat fills my cheeks. It’s been years since I was this embarrassed. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. When did you become such a picky eater? When you were a kid your mother and I could get you to try anything. It’s that bland diet the Union forces on you.”
“As I recall, the only adventurous stuff to eat was borscht in a tube.”
“And you loved it.” He squishes the cornu between his fingers, offering it once again.
I throw him the dirtiest look I can. No way am I going to let him goad me into trying that thing. It looks like that pink fungus Ash and I encountered on the planet.
Tup squints at me. “You don’t look young enough to be his daughter.”
I scowl. “He’s like a hundred and thirty years older than me.”
Tup’s eyes bug out. “Seriously?” My scowl deepens. “I wasn’t even sure you were the same species.” He circles a hand around his face. “It’s the face.”
I laugh, because the look on Sarka’s face must mirror my own from earlier.
“He’s had work done.”
“Work? What does that mean?”
I shake my head. “Never mind.”
Sarka drops a cornu into his mouth. “You know what these remind me of? Back home on Earth, we had these things called chocolate truffles.” He licks his fingers and reaches for another one, then pauses before cracking it open. “You sure you don’t want to try one, Jordan?”
“I’m not falling for that.”
He shrugs.
“I don’t blame you for being wary,” Tup says. “Only one percent of our new recruits ever get up the nerve to try ’em. They look strange, and people tend to be afraid of strange.”
“Fine.” I grab the rock and crack it open. The smell puts me off a little. It’s very salty. I pry it out and roll it around in the yellow sauce, then pause to psych myself up. “Fuck.” I place it in my mouth and chew as fast as I can. They taste like someone went swimming in salty hot sauce and then stuck their head in my mouth, only so much dirtier than that. I glare accusingly at Sarka, who’s got the biggest grin on his face. I notice the second cornu he took is sitting on his plate untouched. “You bastard.” I don’t know why I’m so mad. I knew he was teasing.
It’s not until later I remember Tup never answered my question. What happens if someone refuses to go through intake?
After dinner Tup takes us to sleeping quarters. Quarters is a loose term. They’re coffins lining several walls. They reach five high and at least fifteen or twenty across each wall. Ladders are built into the bulkheads that connect to the top bunk.
Tup consults his tablet before leading us to a row halfway down the room. He points to the top two. “Doesn’t matter which of you takes the top, but remember what room you’re in. Some of us don’t like finding strangers in our beds.” He stuffs the tablet into one of his many cargo pockets. “When you hear two loud siren bursts, it means lights out shortly. Make sure you’re not caught out of bed when that happens.”
“Why?”
“Anyone caught out of bed gets the stocks.”
“Stocks?”
“The next rotation they’re in charge of keeping the latrines clean.” Tup points to a few of the coffins. “Some of the species we have on board haven’t mastered how to use them properly. Makes it the perfect punishment.” He gives Sarka a hearty punch on the arm and walks back the way we came.
I risk opening one of the low coffins. It’s empty and not much bigger than the single mattress sitting on the floor. As the door opens, a cool purple light emanates from a ring above the bed, illuminating the tiny space. On one side is a thin shelf piled with mementos and what look like souvenirs from past battles. There’s even a necklace of strange-shaped fingers threaded on a string hanging by a hook at the top of the bed. I close the door before the owner comes back.
I stare at the tiny stepladder leading to our new home. I thoug
ht the Persephone was small. Sure, I was proud of her because she was sleek and fast, but not big. You would never describe her as a luxury liner. But even the tiniest cabin would be a five-star hotel compared to this.
“How do people live like this?” I ask.
“Because they have no choice.” Sarka grabs my arm and pulls me toward the opposite end of the hall, keeping us moving. “This isn’t the Belt. Keep your head down and become invisible. The less you’re noticed, the better.”
“You’re giving me advice now?”
“Good advice. If you want to survive, you need to listen to me.” He gives me the once-over. “Maybe we should cut your hair. I haven’t seen a lot of women. Maybe we’ll get lucky and you’ll get transferred tomorrow to somewhere more suitable. You don’t belong here.”
“Excuse me?” I know I’m not army material. I would never in a million years choose to join this war, but hearing it from Sarka is insulting. “I belong wherever the hell I say I belong.”
We’ve reached a loud open room filled with off-duty soldiers. It must be the lounge where they unwind after a day of killing people. A loud roar comes from a back table. They’re throwing stones at a wall and watching them bounce back onto a chalked grid on the table.
The room is semidark, with red lights hanging every few feet. One of the men begins to argue with the last stone thrower, and chaos erupts. Sarka pulls me farther down the hall. “When you live in a world where all you have to fight over is garbage, that garbage becomes treasure. Don’t underestimate these people. They have nothing to lose, which makes them more dangerous than the best-trained army in the universe.”
The noise from the clubhouse follows us down the corridor. Something shatters. I take another step. A thought occurs to me, and I feel stupid for not figuring it out earlier. Of course Sarka probably realized it the second we woke up on the artificial farm. At some point they’ll separate us, and I’ll be at the mercy of every piece of shit who thinks I owe them something. We call it human nature, but I have a feeling that several traits are universal.