I had data on Halyon’s disease. There was no mention of it in the Rhymarran broadcasts, but it appeared in multiple places on Colony 13. Torian was 100 percent accurate now: Her sister would die if she remained on that station, breathing that air.
She would not die on Rhymarra. She also would not die on theDestitute. As much as I did not want to share my human with another, if Celise was Torian’s best friend—I would not separate them.
“TheDestitutecan host both of you. My life support systems will ensure it.”
Torian smiled, wiping her eyes. “I know. And thank you. But—this ship is small, Moss. It’s not a feasible long-term solution. Not for you and me, and especially not for Celise. She’d rather die on Colony 13,helping folks until the end, than be trapped on this starship for the rest of her life.”
“I have been trapped on this starship,” I said. “I am doing fine.”
“Are you?” Torian whispered.
[No.]
“Thishasto work, Moss. I can’t…” Torian inhaled, her hands shaking. “I can’t think about the odds. I just have to try. Okay?”
I realigned my datapoints, identifying human nuance and adjusting the scenarios accordingly. “Eleven percent is not zero,” I repeated. “Good luck, Torian.”
“Thanks,” she said.
After she left, I retreated into my calculations, passing time with more research. If theDestitutewas not an option… perhaps there was another alternative when this inevitably failed. I would not let Torian and Celise down.
CHAPTER 12
The cargo bay door opened, and a burst of clean, Rhymarran air slammed into Torian. Any misery at her conversation with Moss faded as she inhaled deeply. The air was so crisp. TheDestituteand Vaesa both held a hint of humidity, but here, everything feltfresh. Terra Nova University had been built against a mountain range, but on the sunny, southern side of it. Grassy, sloped plains gave way to thick pine forests that climbed up the mountains’ jagged sides. She smelled it all in the air: dust and water, pine needles, all tinged with an earthy scent she couldn’t place.
Magnificent.
She must have made a longing noise, because Moss immediately spoke overhead.
“Don’t be fooled. My atmosphere is superior to this.” It sounded petulant. “Human skin will flake and itch without proper humidity. Those trees hardly produce pure oxygen to the caliber of moss.”
Torian snorted, even as a person with a clipboard approached the docking ramp. “I love your humidity, and your moss,” she whispered. “Keep the ship safe for me.” Before, it had been more of a general statement, like telling the family pet to watch over the house. Now, it actually meant something—because now, Moss had control over theDestitute’s systems.
“I will not allow anyone access.” It sounded smugly gleeful about the ability.
Torian flicked two fingers in goodbye at one of Moss’s cameras, then drew a deep breath. Hopefully, her eyes weren’t red fromcrying—she couldn’t afford that now. She set her jaw, determination settling into her chest.
Eleven percent. She’d faced worse odds.
Resolutely, Torian clipped a leather bag around her shoulder, one that had been stuffed in her duffel bag until now. It held all the evidence Torian felt she would need to test: files of her performance at school on Colony 13, years of exam results, preliminary practice test scores. But to better her chances, she’d also added some more emotional items: images of Celise growing up, her colony medical degree, her official diagnosis, testimonies from her patients about her service-oriented spirit.
All set, Torian strolled down the dock to meet the University representative halfway. The person appeared no-nonsense, with short hair and a clipped expression.
Torian channeled all of her Amelia-like confidence, but kept things polite and formal. She offered one hand to the representative. “Captain Torian Razner, owner of the alien starshipTraitor. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Their translators could handle multiple languages, but accents still shone through. Torian hoped hers wouldn’t be too off-putting.
The representative looked unimpressed. “We do not shake hands on Rhymarra. It’s unhygienic.”
Oh. Torian slid her hand into her pocket, her cheeks warming. “Apologies.”
She should have expected it, but their outfits on Rhymarra were very different than anything Torian was used to. This representative wore a long, flowy skirt, and billowing sleeves embroidered with green thread. (Skirts in general were bad ideas in space, but billowing sleeves were also an impractical use of cloth. Too much fabric, too much risk of indecency if they lost gravity.)
Their necklace appeared to double as their name tag, a metal bar stamped withDess Philona, BtD. Pronoun class: they.Maybe Torian was imagining it, but that necklace looked like pure ionite.
That’d be so absurd, if it was.
Dess cleared their throat, suspicion tinging their tone. “Weweren’t prepared for your visit, Captain Razner. Which professor did you coordinate with?”
Eleven percent meant Torian wasn’t above lying to meet the right person, and a career in smuggling made it easy. “I spoke with Headmaster Nuun.”
