The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

Day 157, GC Standard 307 HEDRA KA

Toum, second guard of the New Mother, sat by a window in the feeding garden, watching the ships of the Commons species. He tore a thick bundle of leaves from a nearby planter. The fluid oozing from their broken stalks gave off that familiar peppery scent, sweet and delicious. But he did not eat. He picked at the leaves, and observed the alien ships. He looked with envy upon the weapons arrays of the Aeluon frigates, as he had done many times. How many clans they could destroy with such weapons. How many false ideas they could erase.

He thought of the aliens within the frigates, with their stupid eyes and unsettling scales. So ugly, the Aeluons. And so unsettling, the way they talked. It was difficult to trust a species who could not speak without sticking wires into their throats. Just as it was difficult to trust the Harmagians, who had no legs to walk upon, or the Aandrisks, with their carnivore claws, or the Quelin, who marred their own flesh for vanity’s sake. No, he could not trust them, any of them. But he could hate them. That came easily enough.

He could not speak of it. Before the alliance, there had never been any doubt in his mind that he was of the Toremi Ka. He was in agreement with their veneration of the New Mothers, and he was in agreement with needing to secure Hedra Ka as their own. But these Commons species. Did the clan really need their help? Were they so weak that they could not hold the new planet alone?

Commons species. Mismatched faces, grating accents, squealing ships. He could see his discontent mirrored in the mouths of some of his clanmates, but no one had raised a challenge. No one had broken from the clan.

This frightened him. Was he defective in some way? Was there some vital piece of wisdom the New Mothers possessed that he did not? Day after day, he wrestled with these thoughts, struggling to bring himself to agreement. But nothing, not meditation, not the privileged amount of time he spent with his New Mother, had displaced them.

He looked down to the leaves, now pulp within his grasp. He threw the wet clump to the floor. The machines would clean it up.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” said a voice from behind. Toum did not need to turn his face to know who it was. He felt his limbs tense, ready for killing.

“No,” he said, his eyes on the window.

“But I will.” The speaker came into his field of vision, folding her legs alongside him. Her name was Hiul. A first unit striker. Toum wondered if he even could kill her, given the chance. He was willing to try. Hiul picked some leaves, and consumed them. “Are you eating?”

“Why else would I be here?”

She lolled her head, looking at the crushed leaves at Toum’s feet. “Of course.” She turned her face to the window. “So many ships. So many ideas within them. How do they do it, I wonder? How do they achieve harmony, knowing that false notions walk beside them?”

Toum said nothing.

Hiul brought more leaves to her mouth. “I do not believe that they do. I believe they exist in chaos, each following their own ideas, each serving a clan of one.”

He smacked his mouth. “The New Mothers say this is acceptable, so long as we keep to our ways. Are you not in unity with their words? Do you not agree?”

Hiul seemed unconcerned by the threat. She ignored the challenge. Ignored it! Only two words left her mouth, maddeningly calm: “Do you?”

He grabbed her, fury hot within his belly. He brought his mouth to her breathing throat, poised for a quick kill. “I have told you before, do not speak to me. You are chaos.”

She did not fight back, which frightened Toum more than if she had. “You see me as out of agreement with the New Mothers?” she said. “You see me as a false truth?”

“Do not toy with me. You know what you are.”

She pushed forward, pressing her throat against his mouth. “Then why do you not kill me?”

He willed himself to bite down. It would be so easy, so fast. He could feel her pulse, deep and quick. But he could not, and it made him rage all the more. He threw her, hard. A planter broke beneath her fall, loam spilling over the floor. The others in the garden looked their way. Most, after a glance, returned to their food, unconcerned by the mess. The machines would clean it up.

Hiul laughed, wiping a stream of lymph from split skin near her mouth. “‘You know what you are.’ Yes, yes. I do,” she said, standing. She approached him again. “And I know what you are, Toum. I see the conflict in you.”

“I am a guard of the New Mother!”

She moved in close, whispering. “That is why you fight it, I know. How horrible for you. How horrible to know the truth, and to hate those who threaten it, and to remain loyal regardless.”

His eyes betrayed him, straying to the window full of alien ships.

Hiul exhaled smugly. “You have a ship of your own, you know. You have access to things we do not.”

He looked sharply back at her. “We?”

She walked away, limping slightly. It appeared that one of her back legs had been badly bruised by the fall. Good. She turned her face to him. “We are Toremi,” she said. “We are never a clan of one.”

Ashby sighed with relief as the pinhole tug pulled his ship back into normal space one last time. It had been four days since they’d rendezvoused with the Kirit Sek, and grateful as he was for the shortcut, he wasn’t sure what had been worse—the sublayer jumps, or long stretches of nothing in between. The last leg of the haul to the rendezvous at Del’lek had been a long one, but they’d busied themselves with cleaning the ship and taking care of all the little odd jobs that had been brushed to the side. By the time they met up with the Kirit Sek, the Wayfarer was as spotless as it ever had been, and there was nothing else for them to do. Ashby had thought four days of kick-back would be restful, but the jumps made that impossible, and the lack of productivity made him anxious. Everybody was on edge. Dr. Chef had been growing irritated at all the extra help hovering around the kitchen, and Ashby had strong suspicions that the blown-out lighting panel they’d experienced the day before had been orchestrated by the techs, just to give themselves something to do. The only people who hadn’t seemed to mind the downtime were Sissix and Rosemary, who were happy to keep each other occupied, and Ohan, who was busy letting their nerves die.

But the jumps, though, had gotten to everybody. A blind punch was one thing, but four days of in and out at six-hour intervals was enough to make even Ashby spacesick. He sat up slowly in bed as Lovey transmitted the tug captain’s voice through his vox.

“That’s it for us, Captain Santoso,” the Aandrisk woman said. She had a different accent than Sissix—less colloquial, harsher around the edges. “Are you all doing okay over there?”

“Well enough,” Ashby said. He rubbed his eyes. Stable vision could not be overrated. “Thanks for the trip.”

“Take it from me—before you call in to whoever you’re reporting to, take an hour to eat something and get back on your feet. We’ll be doing the same.”

“Will do.” He cleared his throat. “Heske rath ishi kith.”

“Heske skath eski risk,” the Aandrisk said, sounding pleased. “Safe journey to you as well.” The vox switched off. Out his window, Ashby could see the Kirit Sek drop their towing field and veer away.

“Lovey, where’s Sissix?”

The vox snapped back on. “She just headed to the control room.”

“Let her know I’m on my way there.”

A few minutes later, he stepped into the control room. Sissix was already in her seat, checking her navigational controls.

“I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head,” she said, without looking at him.

“You and me both.” He slumped into his chair and stared out the window. “And all for that.”

In the space beyond was Hedra Ka. A cracking scab of a planet, choked with storms and veins of lava. A mist of rocks floated in orbit, a reminder of its recent formation. It was a young world, unwelcoming, resentful of its existence.

“That is the angriest looking rock I’ve ever seen,” Ashby said.

“You talking about the rock or the ships?”

Hedra Ka lay within a feeding frenzy of vessels—Harmagian frigates, Aeluon cruisers, neutral transports, pinhole tugs, patrol shuttles. And of course, the Toremi. Ashby knew that the Toremi were generational spacers, just like the Exodans, but he saw nothing familiar in their ships. For a species who lived out in the open, their ships looked surprisingly fragile, lacking the thick bulkheads he associated with long-haul rigs. He saw only wiry frames and sharp edges, dripping with antennae and eerie lighted cords that drifted in the vacuum. They looked like deep-sea creatures, pulsing, swaying, incomprehensible.

Ashby leaned forward. “No way.” There was a clear spherical patch outside of the swarm, marked by warning buoys. “That’s where they want us to drop the cage?” The distance between the tunnel entrance and Hedra Ka would be shorter than the distance between Earth and Luna. By about half.

“Good thing this is a soft zone,” Sissix said. “Can you imagine doing a blind punch there?”

Ashby shook his head. “We’re good, but not that good.”

“Nobody’s that good.”

“We’d have been lucky not to tear that planet apart.”

Sissix snorted. “Not much of a loss if we did.”

Ashby laughed. “Lovey, can you patch me through to everybody?”

The vox switched on. “They’re listening, Ashby,” Lovey said.

“Hey, everybody. We’ve made it. If you’re feeling sick, go get yourself a bite to eat, but please make it quick. I’d like everyone here when I call our contact. Please be in the control room in one hour, tops. This is a big day for us, and I’d like us all to put our best foot forward. Nothing fancy, but clean faces and smart clothes would be appreciated.”

Kizzy’s voice came through the vox. “Don’t worry, Ashby, I won’t talk at all.”

He paused, trying to find a kind way to tell her that was best. “You’re too cool for them anyway, Kiz.”

Toum sat in meditation. Or so he meant to. Across from him sat the first guard, Fol, her legs folded calmly, her eyes blank with reason. He envied her. The longer they stayed around these Commons people, the more difficult it was for him to structure his mind. No matter how hard he tried to shift his thoughts elsewhere, he returned, inevitably, to Hiul. Neither of them should have left the room alive. It was their way. The stronger belief would survive, the weaker would be erased. This was how harmony was made.

He should have killed her. Striker training or no, he’d had his mouth on her throat. He should have killed her. He had killed many out of disagreement. Why had he let her walk away?

The answer was there, in a cruel corner of his mind. He ran from it. It mocked him all the same.

“Come,” the New Mother said, entering the room. Toum and Fol extended their legs and gathered their weapons. “I am going to the carrier. The tunneling ship has arrived, and I have heard that the Harmagian has invited them aboard.”

“Have you been extended an invitation?” Fol asked. The Harmagian bureaucrat was particular about tedious matters like guest lists and protocol. Commons worries.

“I do not need one,” the New Mother said. Toum knew he could hear it in her voice, too—the waning patience, the weariness of dealing with alien ways. Why did she never speak of it? If she would just voice the frustrations he knew she felt, then he would have been in agreement with her all along, and he would no longer doubt his place as Toremi Ka. But no such relief came. “These tunnelers are making a hole in my sky,” she said, walking to the door. Fol and Toum fell into place on either side of her, staying a practiced six steps behind. “That gives me the right to see their faces.”

Rosemary was glad to be off the ship. Granted, she was on another ship, but the change in scenery was badly needed, and the small welcoming reception they’d been brought into was a nice surprise. Nothing fancy, just a table of artfully made finger food and a few low-level GC officials making casual conversation. She’d been to gatherings like this before, but tunnelers weren’t the sort you’d find on the guest list. It was a kind gesture—and a sign of how important this new tunnel was.

The room surrounding them was a stark contrast to the Wayfarer’s patchwork walls. It was a Harmagian design, spacious and colorful. A variety of species-specific chairs were scattered here and there, and long horizontal windows lined the hull wall. The filtered air was cool and crisp—Rosemary had noticed Sissix moving more slowly, as a Human with sore muscles might—and the lighting just on the edge of too bright. Her crewmates were having a good time, enjoying both the food and the attention. Ashby and Sissix were across the room, locked in conversation with some bureaucrat. Jenks had apparently made friends with one of the serving staff, a Laru, who he’d been laughing with for twenty minutes over who knew what. Ohan had remained behind, of course, and so had Corbin, who, after seeing Dr. Chef’s eyes light up at the mention of a buffet, had offered to keep an eye on the ailing Navigator in his stead. The algaeist had been rather generous with favors as of late.

“Hey, Doc,” Kizzy said. She lifted a skewer of fried vegetables from her overburdened plate. “What’s this yellow stuff?”

Dr. Chef’s cheeks fluttered. “That’s saab tesh. I cook it all the time.”

“It doesn’t look like saab, though. Or taste like it.” She pulled off one of the chunks with her teeth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Nope, not really.”

“That’s because they probably have better stasies than ours. No molecular degradation over a long haul.” His head drooped. “Lucky.”

Kizzy swallowed. “I don’t think I like it as much this way.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to taste.”

“Well, I don’t like it.” She ate another piece.

“You know,” Rosemary said. “We’ll be making a nice profit off this job. I’m not making any promises, but you and I could at least look at market prices for a new stasie once this is done. We could put together a little proposal for Ashby.”

Dr. Chef’s cheeks puffed. “I’ve always liked the way you think.”

“I cannot wait to punch,” Kizzy said, abandoning the vegetable skewer in favor of a seed-encrusted bundle of leaves. “I love all you guys, but I seriously need to get off the ship for a couple tendays. I’m all space-twitchy.”

“Jenks said he’s already got his bag packed,” Dr. Chef said.

“Oh, yes. He will not shut up about all the reasons why the beaches on Wortheg are better than anywhere else. I don’t know how we’re going to get him back.”

“No beaches for me. I’m going to go visit my old friend Drave. He just installed a new greenhouse in his homestead, and he said he’d love some help choosing seedlings.”

“Wait, wait, wait. For your vacation, you’re going to Port Coriol. A place we go all the time. So you can garden. Which you do all the time.”

“What?” His cheeks puffed. “I love gardening.”

Kizzy rolled her eyes. “What about you, Rosemary?”

“Oh. Well, I—” I have nowhere to go. “I haven’t really decided yet.” She took a sip of fizz. “I may just stay on the ship. I’ve almost got all the financial archives reorganized, and I hate to leave it unfinished.”

Kizzy quirked her eyebrows and smiled. “You want to come home with me, come stay with my dads?”

Rosemary felt her cheeks flush. “Oh… that’s very kind, but I—”

“Listen. Mudskip Notch isn’t exactly Florence, but it’s quiet, and the people are chill. There’s live music in the main square on warm nights, and the hydrofarms are actually kinda pretty once the algae crop starts to bloom. And there’s a little collective of artists and modders out along the edge. You can kick it with me, or you can do your own thing. All I’m offering is a clean bed in a sleepy colony town, in the home of two awesome gentlemen who love it when I bring houseguests. Also, three dogs who will lick your face and be your best friends forever. And my Ba makes the best fucking waffles in the galaxy.” She turned to Dr. Chef. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Dr. Chef. “I’ve never had success with waffles.”

“Well…” Rosemary said. Two quiet tendays of home cooking and fresh air were tempting, and she was curious to see more of the independent colonies, but—

“Please?” Kizzy said, bouncing. A stray pastry fell off her plate. “Please please please?”

Rosemary gave a little laugh, both embarrassed and touched. “Okay. If you’re sure it’s no trouble, I’ll come.”

“Yes!” Kizzy jammed a fist into the air. “I’ll message my dads when we get back to the ship. Or after we punch, I guess.” She rolled her eyes. “Priorities.”

Something across the room caught Dr. Chef’s eye. “Well, well,” he said. “I wasn’t sure we’d be seeing any of them.”

Through the doorway came three Toremi, strange and disconcerting. They walked on four legs with knees that bent the wrong way, and their skin looked hard and brittle. Their thin heads lolled, more like machine weights hanging from a socket than things made of soft flesh. The Toremi standing in the middle wore thick ornamental chains over her dark vestments, and a conical cap, trimmed with red. A New Mother, as Nib’s messages had described. The other two Toremi flanked her, a few steps back. They were both armed, and heavily—big rifles slung across their ridged backs.

“They’re creepy,” Kizzy whispered.

“Shh,” said Dr. Chef.

Rosemary nodded toward the bureaucrat speaking to Ashby. The Harmagian woman was flustered, her tendrils curling rapidly as she moved her carrier wagon over to greet the Toremi. “She’s nervous,” Rosemary said. “I don’t think she knew they were coming.”

Dr. Chef grumbled in agreement. “You’d be nervous too if someone you’d been brokering a galactic alliance with suddenly strolled into a room full of spacers with debatable manners.”

Kizzy took an enormous bite of a pastry, taking care to make a few crumbs stick to the edges of her mouth. “Ah gud mnnrs.”

Dr. Chef brushed the crumbs away with a handfoot as Kizzy laughed behind closed lips. But Rosemary was paying more attention to the Toremi, who the Harmagian woman—her tendrils now flexing with a touch of calm—was introducing to Ashby. They were familiar somehow, not because of the vids she’d seen or the reference files, but… something else. Something more tangible. More personal. It was right there, like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue. But what was it? The clothing? The jewelry? The—

The guns.

In a flash, she remembered being in her apartment back on Mars, a few blocks away from the Alexandria campus. She was making tea, tapping stray leaves off the measuring spoon as water heated in the hot pot. The door chimed. Rosemary Harris? Can we come in? Two detectives, crisp clothes, both wearing ocular scanners. One of them had laid a scrib on the coffee table, projecting images of weaponry into the air. Do you know anything about these?

Rosemary set down her plate on the buffet table and walked to the window. She folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath, looking out onto the crowded sky. A small, angry planet, surrounded by the warships of people who wanted to control it. The Wayfarer waited just outside, a lumpy, beautiful box that could not have been more out of place amid the sleek carriers and chilling Toremi vessels. She wanted to be back there, safe behind piecemeal walls and scavenged windows. What the hell were they doing here?

“Hey.” Kizzy laid a hand on Rosemary’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Rosemary gave a quick nod, pressing her lips together. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She paused. “I just know where they got their guns.”

“Where?” Kizzy asked. Rosemary gave her a dry look, but said nothing. Kizzy’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um. Shit. You sure?”

Rosemary thought of the scrib images hovering in her living room, the detectives studying her face. “I’m sure.”

A handfoot rested gently on her other shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” Dr. Chef said. “You can’t change it.”

“I know,” Rosemary said. “I’m just…” She glanced over her shoulder. The room hummed with conversation. Everyone else was gravitating more toward the Toremi at the door. Nobody was paying attention to the three spacers at the window. She spoke in a hush. “It makes me angry. And not only because of my father. He did what he did because he wanted ambi. It was greedy, and immoral, and everyone hates him for it. I hate him for it. But the GC’s doing the same thing. They’ve got treaties and ambassadors and buffet lunches, and it all seems so civilized and diplomatic. But it’s the same damn thing. We don’t care about these people, or how we affect their history. We just want their stuff.” She shook her head hard. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Dr. Chef squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve been feeling much the same about this myself. But every sapient species has a long, messy history of powers that rise and fall. The people we remember are the ones who decided how our maps should be drawn. Nobody remembers who built the roads.” He chuffed and rumbled. “We’re just tunnelers. That’s all we do, and it’s all we can do. If it wasn’t us, it would’ve been some other ship. This would’ve happened without us. This isn’t something we can stop.”

Rosemary exhaled. “I know.”

“And besides,” Kizzy said. “I mean, they want us here, right? These aren’t exactly chummy people. They would’ve said no if they didn’t want us.”

“Even so,” Rosemary said. “We’ve got no business stepping into their war.”

Once they had left the reception room, Toum addressed the New Mother. “Did you hear the members of the tunneling ship by the window?”

“I did not. My ears were on their captain, and what sounded like a damaged ventilation coil in the ceiling. Very distracting.”

“What was it you heard?” asked Fol.

Toum’s mind was a tangle. His thoughts were reaching a fevered pitch. If he did not speak, he would burst. But if he did speak—

“Tell me,” said the New Mother.

Toum obeyed. “The tunnelers do not speak in agreement with their leaders. They have doubts about our alliance.”

The New Mother smacked her mouth in acknowledgment. “This falls into their pattern.”

“Forgive me, New Mother, but does this not concern you?”

“The Commons pattern concerned us at first,” she said. “So many species, so many different ideas, all joined within a single clan. We did not see how such a thing could stand.”

Toum and Fol clicked their knee joints in agreement. When the Galactic Commons speakers had first approached the Toremi Ka, three of the New Mothers were not in favor of their offer. They had left Toremi Ka space once it was clear that there could be no agreement. They had their own clans now, and were enemies of the Toremi Ka. One had been killed. This was the way.

“But they spoke as one,” Fol said. “In the first talks, and the negotiations after, the Commons people spoke as one. They used the same words. They were in agreement, even though they were of different species.”

“Yes,” the New Mother said. “We know their agreement is practiced, and they do not see patterns as we do. But they still seek such things in different ways. We find this an acceptable concession.”

“But it’s a lie,” Toum said. He could see Fol look at him with concern, but he continued on. “They do not truly agree. They merely pretend to, so as to maintain order.” Like me. Oh, dead ones take me, like me.

The New Mother looked hard at him. He trembled. “There is more you wish to say,” she said.

Toum shakily smacked his mouth. “New Mother, I do not wish to impose my thoughts upon yours.”

“There is no need to worry. My thoughts are the stronger, and I value yours. I trust that we will find harmony.”

He hoped desperately that she was right. “We have claimed Hedra Ka as a place of stability, a place to keep us anchored while we think on the pattern of the New Mothers.”

“True.”

“Our species—even our own clan—is unstable. In this time of change, is it wise to invite further instability?”

Fol looked dismissive. “We cannot defeat the warring clans alone. The GC has solidified our claim.”

“But at what cost?” Toum felt his knees slip, weakened by his boldness. “In destroying the warring clans, might we not destroy ourselves? Might such a muddled influence as the GC cloud our sense of clarity?”

The New Mother stared at him. She shifted her gaze to Fol. “Do you share these thoughts?”

“No,” Fol said, without any hint of doubt. Toum looked askance at her. It was clear, in her face and in her voice, that she was in true agreement. Her thoughts did not tear at her. She knew her place, in her thoughts and in her clan. It did not trouble her. He hated her for it.

The New Mother shifted her neck and placed her face close to his. “We need the Commons to secure our claim. Our ways are stronger than their influence. A hold on Hedra Ka is worth making allowances for different understandings. Do you agree with these thoughts?”

Toum felt his stomach lurch. There were insects under his skin, claws in his heart. “I… I…” He could not bring himself to say the words. He loved his New Mother. He loved all of them. He would lie down and tear out his organs for them. And yet, yet, he agreed more with the squeaking words of that female Human than he did with what he had just heard.

The New Mother pulled back and lolled her head. Toum looked to the floor and kept his eyes there, but all the same, he could feel Fol staring, judging him with her calm eyes. “Go now and meditate,” the New Mother said. “Take time to determine which of your thoughts is the strongest. Then you will know if you are still one of us.”

“You are a fine guard,” Fol said. “Your death would be a loss.” Toum did not look at her. If he did, he might snap her neck.

“I agree,” the New Mother said. “I hope you will return.”

But as Toum clicked his knees and walked away, he knew he would not. Something had shifted. The fear remained, but it was hardening. His thoughts had been made real by hearing them aloud, and he knew now, more than ever, that no agreement could be found here. He walked down the corridors, past repulsive Harmagians and weak-faced Aeluons. They bobbed and flashed their cheeks in friendly acknowledgment. He seethed. Toremi space was no place for these simpering aliens. His people should have sent them back across the border in pieces, as they had always done.

As they still could.

Ashby eyed the readouts on his control screen. “I swear, our engines have never been running this smooth.”

Sissix spoke without looking up from her navigation controls. “That’s what happens when you take two easily-bored techs on a long haul.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should do this more often.”

That made Sissix’s head turn. She gave him a look that could melt the hull. “Let’s not.”

Ashby chuckled. He shared the feeling. In a few hours, they’d be back in Central space. He couldn’t wait, but the thought was surreal. Even as accustomed to taking shortcuts through space as he was, knowing that the tens upon tens of tendays it had taken them to get to Hedra Ka could be backtracked in a matter of hours was bizarre. The idea of being among recognizable ships, and planets he’d walked a dozen times, and markets full of food he didn’t have any questions about, without a destination in mind, without somewhere that he needed to get to… it sounded fantastic. And it wasn’t making sense yet.

“What about you, Corbin? Fuel lines pumping well?”

“Impeccably.” The pale man glanced up from his station. “I’m sure there are plenty of other ways to make our techs bored more often.”

The vox switched on. “Ashby, there’s a Toremi ship nearby,” Lovey said. “It looks like it’s heading for the cage.”

He paused. That was odd. “Have they crossed the safety perimeter?”

“No, they’re just headed our way.”

“They’re probably curious,” Sissix said. “If I’d never seen a tunnel before, I’d want to see how it’s done.”

Ashby nodded. “Just keep an eye on them, Lovey. And contact them. Give them a friendly reminder to keep their distance when we punch. We don’t want to drag them in after us.”

“Will do,” Lovey said.

The control room door spun open. Dr. Chef walked in, carrying Ohan. The Sianat Pair’s back legs had finally given up, and Ashby found their stillness more unsettling than the fragile trembling that had filled the tendays before.

Ashby stood up. “Can I help?”

“No, no, I think we’re okay here,” said Dr. Chef, his voice as easy as if he were talking about chopping vegetables. He set Ohan down in their chair, straightening their legs beneath it.

Ohan craned their head with grace. “We thank you.”

Dr. Chef handed Ashby two injection vials and a syringe. “If they start losing feeling in their hands, give them one of these.” He pointed to a spot at the back of Ohan’s neck, right along their spine. The fur had been shaved away, and the gray skin beneath was bruised from repeated injections. “Right here.”

Ashby nodded, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. He placed the vials in a holding box beside his control panel, and knelt down to look Ohan in the eye. “It is always a privilege to watch you work. I am very glad to do this with you one last time.”

“As are we all,” Sissix said.

Corbin cleared his throat. “Me, too.”

Ohan looked around through their long-lashed eyes. “We… we are not adept at expressing sentiment. In some respects, we wish we could stay with you longer.” They blinked, slow as ice melting. “But this is our way.” Another blink. They looked to Ashby. “We are eager to begin.”

Ashby smiled, though his chest felt heavy. Reclusive though they were, Ohan was a part of his crew. He didn’t want this to be the last time. He didn’t want a new face looking at him from that chair. He didn’t want to know that the face that was there now would soon be gone forever.

He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. He looked to Dr. Chef. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Yes, yes,” Dr. Chef said, heading for the door. “I’m off to knock out me and the clerk.” Rosemary had decided to take Dr. Chef up on his offer to sedate her this time. Ashby had thought that best, both for her sake, and for the sake of the control room floor.

He returned to his chair and buckled his safety harness. “Patch me through, Lovey.” The vox switched on. “Okay. Let’s sound off.”

“Flight controls, go,” said Sissix.

“Fuel check, go,” said Corbin.

“Interspatial bore is go,” said Kizzy through the vox. “I remembered snacks this time.”

“Buoys are go,” Jenks said.

Ashby flexed his fingers over the control panel. He was itching to get started. “Lovey, what’s up with the Toremi?”

“They didn’t reply. But they’re staying behind the safety perimeter. Only just, though, they’ve got their nose right up against the buoys.”

“That’s okay, as long as they’re not coming any closer. What’s our status?”

“All ship systems performing normally,” said Lovey. “No technical or structural malfunctions.”

“All right, folks. Let’s get out of here. Kizzy, start it up.”

The floor panels rattled as the bore began to howl. Ashby tapped a finger on the arm of his chair, beginning his count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

“Ashby.” It was Lovey, calling out over the din. “The Toremi ship. I don’t know what it’s doing. There’s a—” The bore shrieked, drowning her words.

Ashby’s pulse shot up. “Have they crossed the perimeter?” he yelled.

“No. Some kind of energy build up. It’s nothing I’ve—”

What happened next must have gone quickly, but in Ashby’s eyes, everything was slow, as if he were already in the sublayer. First, the window went white, flooded with harsh light that obscured everything beyond their hull. As the light dimmed, arcs of energy writhed around the cage supports, ricocheting around the inside.

The cage was coming apart. Not falling, like a structure down planetside, but breaking, twisting, floating away. Ashby stared, uncomprehending.

Something hit them. The whole ship rocked and shuddered. Red lights appeared all over his control screen, like eyes snapping awake. The lighting panels overhead spasmed. There was likely some sort of noise, the sound of straining bulkheads or warping panels, the sound of his crew calling out in panic, but whatever sound there might have been was drowned out by the bore, which had come to the end of its count. The sky outside ripped open. The Wayfarer tumbled through.