Celise snorted. “They wanteducatedfolks from their fancy-ass university. You spent the last seven years doing security and basic labor. Your engineering degree is from our station community college.”
Working in security was a sore spot for Torian. She’d imaginedgetting a job in engineering, bettering her education while gaining experience that would impress the folks administering Rhymarra’s citizenship exam. But the fact was, becoming a station engineer was highly competitive.
It didn’t help that she’d chosen a focus in solar engineering—which would be very useful on Rhymarra, but truly sucked in the interim.
So, she pivoted.
Security paid well, even if Torian was terrible at it. Most of the time, they just needed a body to stand in the background, holding a gun. But Celise, thedoctor, didn’t want to hear that.
Irritated, Torian replied: “Your medical degree isalsofrom that college.”
“That’s my fucking point, Tor,” Celise replied.
Torian pressed her lips together, falling silent. They were walking slowly: Even though there weren’t traditional asthmatic triggers for Halyon’s disease, they instinctually avoided anything that might cause an attack, like intense physical exertion.
Unfortunately, that meant Torian’s full focus was on this conversation. Misery slid into her soul.
Celise realized it and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. But you and me? We’re not Rhymarran material.”
“A doctor and an engineer? We can help them. It’s a merit-based society.”
“They still expel theirown citizensif they don’t pass those ridiculous exams. I can’t imagine they’ll be jumping to bring you, a random spacer, onboard.” Her voice dropped. “Much less me.”
Torian was losing this fight, but she had to try. This couldn’t all be for nothing. Celise couldn’t justaccepther fate. Torian’s words were forceful. “You’re researching a fatal disease—they should be fascinated with your findings. They’re all about scientific development.”
“Halyon’s disease doesn’t exist on Rhymarra. Why would they care?”
Torian didn’t have an answer to that. She set her jaw, trying todebate without dissolving into pleas or begging. It was hard when her sister, her best friend, was so defeatist.
Why was Torian the only oneperpetuallyholding on to hope?
Celise stopped walking, adjusting the weight of her backpack. They were in an empty alley halfway to her clinic now, and Torian checked that her pistol was visible, even if it didn’t currently have bullets. She stubbornly didn’t meet her sister’s gaze.
“Talk to me,” Celise said.
Torian dragged her gaze back, her expression hard. Her eyes felt damp, and were probably shining in the harsh fluorescents of the hallway. “I’m going to Rhymarra. I’m going to get us citizenship. Then we can talk about options.”
That sat between them. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Celise ran a hand over her face, clenching her eyes shut. “I… hope you’re successful. I would fuckingloveif you came back in a month and told me Rhymarra is welcoming us with open arms. I just… don’t think there’s a fairy-tale ending for our situation. Formysituation.”
“If it doesn’t work, we’ll go somewhere else. My new ship—”
“Still uses recycled air,” Celise said quietly. “Tor, this is a problem everywhere in the galaxy. If I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather spend my time on Colony 13, in my clinic, helping our neighbors.”
Torian would rather her sister not die at all, personally. She swallowed that statement and fiddled with her backpack strap. “Can you promise me something?”
“Maybe.” Celise shrugged, although her lips tilted into a wry smile.
Typical. Torian snorted. “When I come back… will you at leasttrycoming to Rhymarra? Or… or wherever else I find? I’ll search the galaxy for a new home for us, Lise.”
Celise contemplated that, then heaved a sigh. “I guess I should count myself lucky. Not many folks have someone who cares this much.”
“This doesn’t have to be terminal. You’ve found data to support that,” Torian said fervently. “You just need better air.”
Celise waved a hand and kept walking. “I’ll consider it. Do you have time for dinner before you tell Amelia that you’re abandoning her crew to play captain yourself?”
“Amelia and I aren’tanything.” She almost added,Amelia made damn sure of that, but the words died on her tongue. Amelia may have stopped anything from developing six months ago, but in the months since, Torian couldn’t blame her. A Fleet captain—especially a proverbial princess, in competition to take command of the Fleet someday—hardly had time to date scraps.
