My gaze catches on her eyes, the amber that seems to soak up the improbable light around us. I don’t want to think of this woman as trustworthy—this captain who is arguably implicit in my child’s kidnapping. I wish she would snarl at me or say something telling and cruel. Instead, she protects my son, gives me her bed and lets me frolic in greenhouse when, by all rights, she doesn’t even have to let me leave the cabin.
I don’t want to trust that we’re safe with her.
And yet, my skin prickles and I realise with surprise, that I do.
Sun’s Corpse
Much to Tanisira’s disconcertment, I don’t immediately want to go back to the cabin after I climb out of the water; it’s almost like she can’t fathom why I don’t want to hurry back to my cell. But I am taken aback when she doesn’t try to cut my time short, instead sitting beside me in the makeshift meadow and even going so far as to close her eyes. Maybe that’s an insult to my prowess, but I refuse to dwell on it.
Given the opportunity, I pick her apart instead.
Without rigid control over her expression, there are signs that Tanisira might be around the same age as me, maybe early thirties. She doesn’t have the laughter lines I do, the crinkle in the corner of the eyes. Does she never laugh? Does she havereasonsto laugh? I wonder what caused the slit in her eyebrow; it’s a deep furrow, scarred like an old wound. Her hair, which is thick and dark, is pulled back into the tightest chignon I’ve ever seen. It’s a wonder she hasn’t scalped herself. But there, just above her ear, is an errant curl trying to make a break for it. It’s looser than mine and I imagine, without so much product in it, it’d probably be more of a wave than a kink.I don’t know why that single curl steals so much of my attention. The fingers of my uninjured hand twitch.
In this stillness, with a tilt of my head, I can finally examine the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It stretches up to reach the middle of her forearm, portraying a scene of immense depth and length. It looks like... a canyon of some sort. Winding, layered lines resembling sheer cliffs, jagged edges and valleys. The design manages to fit deep grooves and contour lines in such a small surface area. It looks almost three-dimensional. Along with artful shading, it comes across as vast and stunning.
“It’s the Great Rift,” Tanisira says, making me jump. Her tone conveys the importance of the setting.
“Those are the canyons, right?”
She nods. “The Valles Marineris canyon system. You can see why we call it the Great Rift.”
The tattoo is etched into her skin like I imagine the canyon itself was carved into Mars. She further surprises me by extending her arm so I can see it up close. I then notice that there’s something off about the image. Or, not off but concealed. Small symbols, so well incorporated into the landscape that I can barely pick them out. I’m stroking a finger over her skin before I realise I’m doing it—warm and soft andscarred. She flinches and it makes me jump. But her arm stays rock steady, my fingertip still pressed to her pulse.
“You can see them, can’t you?”
I nod, snatching my hand back.
“Smaravethra,” she says. The word is beautiful in her mouth. I don’t even attempt to emulate her, knowing that I’ll butcher it. “It’s something like a... the rough translation would be ‘memory thread’. They’re milestones, markers, that can represent family roots, dates or places of importance.”
“They’re symbols?”
She tilts her chin slightly. If I was expecting her to expand on one of the most thoughtful concepts I’ve ever heard, I end up sorely disappointed. She doesn’t, which is fine. Something like that would be deeply personal and not a little bit revealing. I want to trace the tattoo again; I have a profound appreciation for the art, and I’ve never seen anything like this.
“‘The woven fabric of a person’s life journey’,” I muse, recalling something I’d read.
Blink and I’d have missed the spark in her eyes. It’s interesting that she has something so personal etched into her skin, implying sentimentality, but her cabin lacks any sign of her.
We lapse back into silence.
Telluria still suffers from the ravages of climate change and Neo-London is a hybrid of genetically engineered plant life, hydroponic gardens and dome farms. Flora isn’t easy to get access to these days and the opportunity to bask in all this beauty is too good to pass up. I let the silence stand, not wanting to annoy Tanisira and end up back in the cabin.
“Mierda.” The captain frowns down at her slate.Shit.
Surya-Vaani is so fascinating to me because you can still see all its influences in its daily use, and I think it’s incredible. My mother’s hobby was reading, mine has always been language.Whilst I’m fluent in a few Terra-Tongues, and that helps, I’m not quite there with Surya-Vaani.
“Have I got to go back?” I ask.
When she eventually looks up, I could almost swear I glimpse guilt. But she just nods and escorts me back. This time I don’t talk, taking note of what we pass, and what we don’t. Namely:anypeople. The shipis big but surely we should have seen someone.
Tanisira lets me into the cabin, and I expect her to follow me in, to make sure that I’m secured away. Like luggage.
“Sorry to cut your time short.”
I have the strong urge to reply that it’s fine, and I have to stop myself because this isnotfine. I was raised entirely too English.
I sigh and toe off the boots. I hadn’t bothered to lace them back up; they were dangerous on me either way, so what was the point? “May I please have something to eat?” And just like my parents, I get more polite the more I want to tell someone to fuck off.
As the words leave my mouth, she opens the door and a cart rolls in. I raise an eyebrow.
