The Summer Queen

TIAMAT: Prajna, Planetary Orbit

“Gods,” Kedalion said, stretching his fingers until his knuckles cracked, as he leaned back in the command seat of the Prajna. “I’m still half afraid I’m going to wake up from this dream.” He looked over at Ananke. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Ananke smiled. “You’re not dreaming. Unless I’m having the same one.” She shrugged, stroking the quoll’s bulbous nose as she studied the readouts on the control room wall. “Drive systems, check. Cargo, check. Life support systems, check. Clearances are all in, and departure window has not changed. We’re free, Kedalion. We’re really free to go.” She settled comfortably into the copilot’s seat, dropping the quoll into its nesting box, secured underneath the instrument panel in front of her.

“Ready to leave Tiamat space?” Kedalion spoke the ritual question, looking up at her again from his own boards.

“Ready,” she answered, without hesitation.

Kedalion glanced back over his shoulder. “Ready, Dawntreader?”

Sparks Dawntreader looked up at him, and nodded his bandage-wrapped head imperceptibly. But his eyes still searched the display screens, still clinging to the final view of his homeworld passing by, grandly, thousands of kilometers below them. “Am I doing the right thing, Niburu?” he murmured. “I don’t know,” Kedalion said. “But you’re doing a good thing… . Are you ready?” he asked again, after a moment. At his touch the image on the screens became a field of stars.

Dawntreader drew a deep breath. “I’m ready,” he said, and this time he was looking at the future. He smiled, lifting a hand in a gesture that might have been meant as reassurance, or only as a farewell.

Kedalion settled back into his seat. He spoke to the port orbiting far below; spoke to the ship’s computer, activating the departure sequence.

And then, in the sublime grip of anticipation, he waited, while the Prajna came alive around him, and fell away into the night.