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where I belong.

How is that naive? That’s true.

That’s true of all of us.

I don’t know. I don’t know

because I’ve never walked on

a planet before. I’ve walked

on things we built, things

we’ve dug. I’ve never known

what it is to have nothing

between your feet and the

planet you come from. And

we don’t even come from

Fortune. We’ll never know

the one we evolved

for. The one we left.

We didn’t leave it.

Those people left Earth in

our name. We’re the reality

they made. We own their

actions now.

We don’t bear responsibility for

their choices.

No, but we still have to own

where they led.

I agree. We’re not unique in

that, though.

* * *

“Okay,” a voice behind her said. It was Smokey, wearing their newly minted instructor’s badge and checking things off on a tablet. “How’s that fitting for ya?”

Signy bent her elbows and rotated her wrists, testing the borrowed flight suit. “Feels fine, I think. A bit loose around the ankles, maybe.”

“Loose is better than tight,” Smokey said. “If you end up making a habit of this”—a joke, a conceit, they were pretending she was a potential recruit—“you’ll of course get measured for your own suit. But for now—may I?” Signy nodded her consent as Smokey placed some elastic bands around her lower calves, snugging the pant legs up so they’d fit into the locking boots. Smokey drifted back a few—paces? arm lengths? how did you describe distance in space?—and continued tapping on their tablet. “Now, just to confirm, you have reviewed your safety manual before this flight, yes?”