A flurry of words rolls off his tongue and it’s the question that truly matters. Originally, theMidaswas supposed to dock at Red Horizon in less than two days. The likelihood I would ever see Marlowe and Vee again was minimal, and I was prepared to say goodbye to them on Mars. Now, we have a few more days together, but I haven’t processed what that means yet.
What Devyaan is asking me is a truly beautiful phrase inSurya-Vani. Translated, it cuts through all the bullshit and forces you to be honest with yourself.Are you embracing the full spectrum of how they make you feel?
Four days. The words crop up again. It’s been four days, and Marlowe Rose has thoroughly found her way under my skin. Her and her son.
I look back at Devyaan. “I have a feeling it will only end in pain.”
His dark eyes are soft, his smile gentle. “Eshamariyan neva weh.”
To love is to never fear.
He tries so hard, and I appreciate it—more than I think I’m capable of expressing—so I make a joke. “It’s like talking to my mother.”
When he laughs and claps a hand on my shoulder, it draws Marlowe’s attention. She smiles, though it looks uncertain, and I realise I left her hanging.
I jerk my head subtly towards the door. Her eyes sparkle.
Tomorrow
This time, Kit doesn’t interrupt and nearly scare the life out of us. When she appears to call me to the bridge, I’m already dressed and ready to leave. Marlowe, who lounged in bed longer than I did, is just searching for her clothes when Kit pops into sight. In the low lighting, the shadow of my spider plant spreads its fingers across the wall, reaching up and up. Marlowe knocks against it as she stomps into her boots, and I catch the pot before it topples. I can’t explain my attachment to it; I picked it up at a market stall the week before I accepted this job—maybe because it was the first living thing I’ve ever wanted to look after that I didn’t have to.
I meet a bleary-eyed and wired Beau on the bridge and watch as theMidasapproaches the source of the distress signal, manoeuvring the asteroid belt that separates us. It is indeed an emergency craft. Small and ovoid, it’s an old model that’s lucky to have an SOS capability with a range like it does. It’s a problem I see a lot: even on the newer ships, people underestimate their chances of needing an equally up-to-date escape pod.
Seated at their station, Beau taps on the screen and shakes their head. “Poor fucker.”
We weren’t sure whether we’d be able to dock the whole craft before this. We have the facilities to moor other ships, but it eats through our fuel for extended periods of time; theMidaswas designed for leisure. This capsule, though, is tiny.
“We might do them a favour by leaving the thing behind,” I mutter, taking in the exterior damage it’s sustained.
With everyone else gathered at the docking port in anticipation, it’s only Kit and Beau in here with me. Kit brings up a holo of the vessel and sets it to rotate, giving us a slow 360 of all its dings and dents. We crowd it, taking turns to manipulate the image for inspection.
“How is it even still in one piece?” Beau asks, staring.
Kit, misunderstanding the rhetorical question, brings up a wide model of the asteroid field. “A gravitational pull of—”
“They know,” I say. “Let’s get to the port. I want to be there when it comes in.”
We descend to the docking and logistics bay, located in the bowels of the ship, using a set of automated walkways. Beyond that, we enter the airlock chamber with dual doors and an offshoot observation deck where the rest of the crew are posted in various stages of sleepiness. Vee’s curled up on the plush seating, a quilt tucked around his small body as he kips.
This airlock, designed for the elite passengers of Gryphon’s entourage, is a whole different beast. With soft, indirect lighting and sleek metallic panels, it detracts from the mechanical and tedious nature of docking. There are two doors—past the exterior hatch, at the end of the corridor, a discreet panel slides back to reveal a hexagonal port lined with subtle lighting. Once aligned, with the help of holographs, the incoming vessel is secured and pulled in by a magnetic locking system. It is, however, usually a process that involves the participation of both ships. The battered craft doesn’t look like it could manage any of this, and I don’t trust it to.
So, I cycle through additional onboarding modes to find one more suitable. As I’m doing that, I’m peripherally aware of the observation deck stirring into awareness. I code a set of hydraulic arms to extend and haul the capsule in once we’re within reach. Instead of forming a seal with the hull of theMidas, it’ll be stowed in a cargo space. Vee, awake and excited, has his face pressed right up to the glass. It makes me smile, which is steadying because I’m hoping the pod doesn’t crumble into dust once secured.
Kit announces that we can begin docking and we all watch the escape pod. The process is lengthy because of how delicate it is, made even slower when it undergoes piecemeal pressurisation, followed by decontamination before the inhabitants exit.
If they exit. There’s still the possibility that the passengers are dead, and my pulse pounds through my body as we wait. Clamps attached to the exterior of the pod prevent it from divulging its contents before it’s green-lit. It’s a mottled sort of grey, perhaps bleached by UV rays, and even more wrecked up close.
Finally, once the bay lights switch from a flashing red to a steady green, Kit materialises in front of the pod. The clampsslowly disengage, and her voice, piped through speakers on both sides of the airlock, filters through cleanly.
“Welcome aboard theMidas. You may now exit your vessel.”
Kit repeats the refrain every two minutes for what seems like an age. She waits patiently, hands folded in front of her, face calm. I’m still getting used to seeing Kit wear my sister’s body, but right now it’s almost grounding. In the observation deck, the crew look worried and beside me, Beau chews on their lip. As time ticks by, the air seems to thicken. With my hands in my pockets, no one can see my clenched fists. The passengers could be dead, and then what do we do with the pod? Kick it back out into space?
A deep shudder rolls through me, and I almost bite through my lip. The flashback hits me hard: the sour scent of panic and that almost violent, heavy silence.
Thankfully, no one noticed, and I let my gaze briefly go out of focus as I exhale slowly. My vault is fully, securely sealed.
No, we won’t vent the passengers, even if they didn’t make it.
