Page 1 of The Hornet’s Hucow Pet

CHAPTER 1

NOVA

The pain never goes away.

It retreats at moments, just outside of attention, but it’s always there.

It started the day Earth died.

They told us not to watch as the planet splintered into innumerable pieces, each turning to flame and dissolving into the merciless void of space.

But I had to watch. I had to see for myself.

I had to kill the lingering hope that somewhere, our little blue planet was still out there, waiting for us.

I lay wedged against the viewport of the ark ship for hours.

One Hell of an eighteenth birthday.

First, my hips ached. Then my neck, my shoulders. Then my wrists and calves.

They never stopped aching.

Two decades have since passed, counted by the atomic chip in my arm that spits out time in familiar Earth units even though the planet no longer exists.

I was in denial for the first five years. Brave for a decade after that. I might even have seemed happy in my job as a Solver. Using my whole brain let me leave my body.

The ICSS—Intergalactic Coalition of Sentient Species—saved us, but they weren’t our saviors. They kept as many humans alive as they could; that was true. While other species were rescued only as DNA or a select few individuals, the ICSS worked tirelessly to keep over ninety percent of humans alive after the cataclysm.

They said it was because our self-awareness exceeded a certain consciousness threshold, so it was the right thing to do.

Maybe some of them believed that. But there was another truth: humans are useful.

Compared to other sapient species, we’re small, nimble, adaptable. We don’t require much food. We’re easy to keep alive. And we lack the higher senses—consciousness energy, time strings, gravity threads—that make the ICSS go ‘round.

So, we’re easy to keep in the dark.

We’re not slaves—we’re too well cared for and offered too much autonomy for that to be true. But even this kindness is a calculation. Happy humans do better work. The ICSS is smart enough, knows us well enough, to indulge our curiosity and craving for choice.

It’s like being a prize sled dog. A life of hard work, but nobody could accuse a pampered, eager dog jumping at the harness, raring to go, of being unhappy. We’ve been given the opportunity to do satisfying work, mostly in service of maintaining and expanding the city ships that are now humanity’s refuge.

We’re scattered across the galaxy in whatever orbits can support our needs, chunked out in populations of a few hundred million here, half a billion there. The city ships combine tight, efficient personal quarters with sprawling atriums and bio-domes providing near 360-degree views of the host planet and the depths of space beyond. Special coatings on the glass dynamically control radiation, ensuring that the light is pleasantly bright, but never dangerous.

I used to live on a city ship nicknamed Neo Terra, which orbits a gorgeous gas giant, Vaetar III, streaked with storms of brilliant violet and blazing orange. Since the planet isn’t traversable, the city ship has especially large and diverse atriums. Some are dedicated entirely to agriculture, large enough to support populations of the genetically modified chickens, goats, and bees that the ICSS provisioned us with.

Neo Terra is one of the largest of the human city ships, but even it’s dwarfed by the host planet’s moons. There’s a sister ship in an opposite orbit, almost as large, called Neo Gaia.

The ICSS tech is incredibly efficient, recycling almost everything and relying primarily on solar energy. Our city ships remind me of the ecosystem-in-a-jar I made for science class when I was ten. In theory, it would still be going strong now, nearly thirty years later—if it hadn’t turned to ash along with the rest of Earth.

I might be more grateful, even happy, with my life now if I were a little dumber. If I didn’t see the gossamer threads that bind us, almost invisible.

If I didn’t have dreams of Earth crumbling into fiery ruin, reminding me every night of what I’ve lost, restarting that horrible ache deep in my bones.

Being a Solver was satisfying. I spent my days completing math problems and riddles with other clever, curious humans. Sometimes, the purpose was clear: we’d calculate the bearing coefficients for a new structure in the city ship, or improve a chemical process for air recycling.

Other times, the puzzles were totally abstract. A murder mystery. A set of stones to stack according to precise rules.

Maybe those were equal to some other problem through arcane algebra beyond our human brains.