Homebound

by Lydia Hope

  The thin air was making Gemma lightheaded and slow on the uptake.

  “A Rix space station?” she repeated dumbly, floating to the front and peering out of the windshield. “All I can see is a black shadow.”

  “It’s camouflaged.”

  “It isn’t on our radar, either.”

  “It’s undetectable unless they want to be seen,” he explained.

  Gemma happened to glance at the control panel screen.

  “Simon, watch out!”

  While Simon was distracted, the pirate cruiser moved into a position that was the closest yet to Butan.

  The collision alarm went off, deafening and distracting.

  “We’re getting shot at!” Gemma yelled as another pencil-shaped heat source branched off from the pirate cruiser and started gliding toward the center of the screen.

  “I see it.”

  Simon pulled the levers to once more change the trajectory of their crazy flight. They waited to see the result in silence disrupted only by their shallow fast breathing.

  “Do you think the Rix ship heard our signal?”

  “They did.”

  “Why aren’t they responding? Maybe our receiver’s faulty and we can’t read them?”

  “They may never respond. Rix rarely interfere.”

  “We are being attacked in front of their eyes!”

  “It won’t matter.”

  “But you are one of them!”

  “That’s our only hope.”

  All they could do was wait. Filling lungs with air became a difficult task. Gemma was getting progressively colder and more tired. Her stomach felt funny like it detached itself from its normal place and rose to levitate inside her chest cavity next to her heart. The feeling messed with her head, addling her brain.

  Suddenly, the running board lit up and a series of signs flashed in front of their eyes. After a pause, Simon typed up a brief response. Although his face registered nothing, Gemma sensed that whatever he’d just read, he didn’t like.

  More communication came back in the form of flashing hieroglyphs. Simon hesitated for a long time… and finally responded with what Gemma understood to mean ‘yes.’

  As if by magic, the ‘asteroid’ shed its shadow screen, and the space station’s magnificent muscled shape appeared in all its powerful illuminated glory. It hovered in front of Butan like a fantastic beast. Gemma gaped at the breathtaking view, taking in the massive gunmetal starboard with a series of tiny windows recessed in the grooved slope, the stumpy turrets housing sensors that rose organically from the body, and dark, barely visible shooting portholes dotting the slick surface - so many of them.

  But the most startling aspect of the vessel was a gossamer multicolored veil that surrounded it. The strands of energy shimmered as they shifted, fine and flowing like silk, like Simon’s hair, their translucent glow creating an ever-changing pattern of a pulsating spider web. Mesmerizing and hypnotic.

  “This is actually… pretty. Like Christmas lights.” Gemma heard her voice as if it came from afar.

  “The laser shield is for protection, not decoration. It incinerates anything that tries to get too close. It is very effective.” Simon’s voice was grim.

  He was keeping a close eye on the pirate projectile that seemed to be charting off-center now that they’d moved. Coincidentally, it was flying accurate in the direction of the Rix station that, after the concealment was dropped, was now dominating their navigation screen.

  The station made no move to dodge.

  The torpedo kept coming, closing in fast, shrinking the distance between it and its unintended target. Gemma watched with helpless curiosity how it was hurtling toward the laser-shrouded beast’s side.

  It struck the shimmering shield, gave off a short powerful flare, and disintegrated. Poof. The neat cloud of dark exhaust spread and drifted away.

  The pirate cruiser had seen the spectacle too, and was now lurking a good distance away as if in indecision.

  The thinning air and permeating deep freeze brought Gemma to the present.

  “Simon, what did the space station say? We have to hurry. The air is almost gone.”

  Simon showed no sign that he heard her. He was poised over the controls making no move to act.

  “Simon? Are we okay to approach?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Coming from him, the simple words forced the sickly haze in her brain to retreat and brought the world into sharp focus. His stark dear face became the sole point of her concentration.

  His expression was bleak, hopeless.

  “I don’t understand. Did you give them your name?”

  “Yes.”

  “They don’t know who you are,” Gemma finished for him.

  Simon growled deep in his throat. “They do. They know my name. They know I died.”

  She was afraid to ask but did anyway, “They won’t allow us to dock?”

  He shifted his huge eyes to her. They were more than dull; they were filmed over with a dirty gray film, a sign of distress and low spirits.

  “Only if I can make it through the laser shield.”

  Gemma started, the failed pirate missile fresh in her mind. “This is suicide.”

  “It’s a test,” he corrected.

  “It can’t be done.”

  “It can. The laser shield has a pattern. You can approach the station if you know how to navigate the pattern.”

  “Do you? Know the pattern, I mean.”

  “I used to when I piloted. That’s what they want to see, if I’m who I said I was.”

  “Let’s try it.”

  “No.”

  “But it’s our only chance!”

  He shook his head with finality. “Gemma, assuming the pattern hasn’t changed, I am eight years out of practice. But even in top form, I wouldn’t dream of broaching the Rix shield in a barrel with no fuel that only turns at wide angles. This is suicide. I can’t do it to you. To us.”

  An unnatural calm descended on Gemma. Her heart swelled with love for this male. She turned and moved her body through air to float behind him. Twining her arms around his neck, she pressed her cheek to the top of his head.

  “Do it, Simon. There’s nothing left for us here. If we have to die, let’s die fighting, not sitting here waiting for the air to run out. It is a chance, and by God I want you to take a stab at it. We’ve come so far. Don’t give up on us now!”

  “You’re scaring me,” he whispered.

  It made her smile. “You’re silly.”

  He was still for several minutes, the time they could ill afford to lose, but she sensed he had to take it to come to a decision.

  Finally, he stirred. “Buckle up.”

  She chuckled. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I want you to stay safe. To stay alive.” He sounded disoriented.

  Pressing her lips flush with his ear, she enunciated each word, “You. Can. Do it.”

  His eyes glittered, no longer dull. He placed his hand over the lever, his palm swallowing the instrument designed for a smaller species of a pilot. Gemma shivered. As always, Simon exuded extreme capability and perfect control. Their crappy ride and desperate situation changed nothing. He was still the ‘it’ boy.

  He angled the lever to the left. The gossamer glow of the station in the windshield twirled and dropped from view. The monitor showed them pulling away.

  “Ah, Simon? I think you’ve got the directions wrong. The station is that way.” She tapped her finger on the screen. “You’ve got us going back, to the pirates.”

  “Now, who’s the pilot?”

  “You are. But I thought I’d mention it.”

  He suddenly grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head down to plant an open-mouthed kiss on her lips. “Noted.”

  He executed a 180-degree turn. The station reappeared in their window, farther away and above them. Their new vantage point allowed a full view of its armored underbelly with two sets of docking bay hatches sealed shut and engulfed
in the protective glow of the lasers.

  Butan’s thrusters whined, weak but without sputtering, and the rattletrap began spinning. They accelerated, too, and Gemma wished she could absorb the sensations with her body like she would have on Earth, and relish in the sudden burst of speed, in centrifugal force from the spin of their vehicle as it plowed through nothingness toward the beautiful, shimmering, ultimate light.

  The imagined sensations coursed through her, almost real in their intensity. Her heart beat faster and faster. The station grew and loomed in front of them, wiping away the darkness, filling their cabin with its multicolored light through the windshield. The thready alarm came alive and wouldn't stop. Gemma squeezed Simon’s neck tight and pressed her face into his hair, closing her eyes.

  “I love you,” she whispered. Her chest kept moving but no air was entering her lungs.

  Buzzing din filled her ears. All hairs on her body stood up on end. An indescribable pressure formed around her, like magnets pulling her apart yet balling her organs together. The sound of the alarm faded away, failing to penetrate her eardrums. Her limbs lost all control. They were heavy, weighed down, her arms dropping from Simon’s shoulders. She was floating away from him, speared from all sides by currents of stinging energy, relentless and forceful and final.

  Oh, but death was a strange experience.

  Gemma woke up floating. Her head felt woozy but it didn’t hurt. She was breathing deeply, filling her lungs to capacity. Her body virtually thrummed from the overabundance of oxygen.

  She heard soft sounds coming from above, a melodious chirping that was not quite music but pleasant nonetheless. Overall, she felt quite comfortable, which was amazing.

  She savored the bliss of comfort for a few short moments before her mind rewound to the last minutes she remembered - the dingy interior of Butan’s cabin, it getting colder as the air emptied out, the nerve-wracking sound of the collision alarm, and Simon’s burning eyes.

  Simon.

  Her eyes snapped open to a calm blue of recessed lighting. She flailed her arms to rotate her body in zero-gravity but something was restricting her movements. Soft cushioning embraced her, canceling her flight. And why was everything blue?

  Her mind exploded with panic. She thrashed, suffocating despite the plentiful air, falling, drowning in the stifling softness. Her arms were too heavy, she couldn't lift them. She was paralyzed! A pitiful hoarse moan left her lips, mixing with the hiss of a door sliding open.

  Gemma watched in helpless horror as a figure approached, dressed in a slick bodysuit, hands folded in consolation. A female.

  And she was walking.

  Reality slammed into Gemma with the force of an oncoming train, and all she was able to do was fall back onto the foam mattress and take it all in: the super soft bed that contorted to her body, the music, the blue lights. Gravity.

  She was in a room, and it wasn’t on Butan.

  The woman approached her bed, and Gemma didn’t need pointers to know she was Rix. Her huge eyes, luminescent despite their inky black color, revealed nothing, but Gemma sensed no threat. The Rix woman uttered something in her language, her voice low and soothing. Reaching out with slim hands sporting six slender fingers tipped with golden claws, she adjusted Gemma’s pillow and tucked in her covers. After a slight hesitation, she gently touched her forehead, brushing the hair off to the side with the gentlest of strokes. Her hands were cool.

  “Where is Simon?” Gemma’s voice came out an octave lower than usual.

  The Rix woman cocked her head.

  “Simon. The man I was with?”

  Instead of answering, the woman fetched a bowl full of small meat chunks and offered to feed Gemma with a skinny long-stemmed spoon.

  Gemma waived the dinner away. She couldn't even think of food. She attempted to get her question across in several different ways, but the woman wouldn't understand. Not knowing if Simon was here, if he was alive, was the torture of the worst kind.

  Gemma gave up questioning when tears of frustration threatened to spill from her eyes and the woman’s expression turned crestfallen. She shook her head and left Gemma’s bedside to approach the wall where she tapped on the textured designs as if they were piano keys and she was performing Beethoven Sonata No.5 in C minor.

  Gathering up strength, Gemma sat up. Despite exercising on Butan, her body felt wooden and weak in full gravity.

  The woman registered alarm and rattled off a series of sentences that Gemma ignored as she pushed away the covers with the intent to get up. But before she could get any further and no doubt fall face-down on the floor, the door hissed again, opening to reveal a group of men. They filed in without a sound, their tread a mere whisper of soles touching the matte planks.

  They were dressed in the same sleek body-hugging suits as the woman with the necks cut low enough to reveal their tattoos. And the men were massive. Their bodies became a solid wall as they surrounded Gemma’s bed in a semi-circle. Several pairs of soulless black eyes dominating their angular faces stared at her, revealing nothing of the thought processes beneath their stony expressions. They were here to give her more meat chunks. Or they were here to make her into meat chunks. It could go either way.

  But if they intended to intimidate, the effort was wasted on Gemma.

  “I’m glad you came,” she addressed the delegation. “This nice lady and I were making no headway. Where’s Simon?”

  The semi-circle rippled allowing one more male to slide in.

  “I’m here.”

  Gemma covered her face with her hands and dissolved into tears.

  Aware of making a spectacle, she tried to stop and couldn't. Great belly-deep sobs wracked her body, and her eyes overflowed with a seemingly endless torrent of tears. Her nose ran and became clogged. She grew hoarse, her throat swollen, her mouth filled with stringy saliva. At this moment, she was more fragile than a vintage porcelain doll: one poke, and she’d break into a million tiny pieces.

  Eventually, her outpouring of emotions slowed down to occasional sobs and dry heaves. Grasping a corner of her covers, she blotted her face without looking up. While she had been fully prepared to take all of Rix men on minutes ago, now she refused to face them.

  Giving one last hiccuping sob, she raised her eyes.

  The room was empty of everyone except Simon sitting at the foot of her bed. He was holding a bowl that, after seeing her look up, he extended to her.

  “What is it? More meat?” she could barely articulate the words with her tongue twice its normal size from crying.

  A brief show of amber teeth told her he found her aversion to their food amusing. “Water.”

  Grateful, she took the bowl and greedily slurped the contents. She gave the bowl back to him. He took it from her hands, let it drop to the floor. He moved then, and she was in his arms, lifted off the mattress and placed in his lap, surrounded by his strength, his smell, his taste when he kissed her, licked inside her stupidly wet, swollen mouth.

  They didn’t speak. There was no need, and frankly, no desire to rehash the last several years of each of their lives.

  They survived.

  A quiet hiss announced that once again someone was approaching. Simon gently let Gemma lay back down as he rose to meet their visitor.

  It was a man, only one. He and Simon exchanged a brief conversation.

  “Gemma, this is Commander Aiek. He welcomes you onboard and wishes you well.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Commander. I am grateful for your hospitality,” Gemma said to the man, smiling weakly.

  Simon translated, and Commander Aiek said something in return, giving her a small bow but hovering much farther away from her bed than before.

  “Commander apologizes for the lack of proper care you may have received. They aren’t equipped to tend to aliens. This isn’t their ship’s mission.”

  Surprise made Gemma chuckle. “I am an alien, aren’t I? From this point on.”

  Simon smiled back.

 
; Commander Aiek radiated concern.

  Dividing a look between him and Simon, Gemma asked, “What?”

  “Gemma, they aren’t used to humans. When you smile, he doesn't know you’re amused. And remember, Rix don’t cry. So when you cried earlier…” he cleared his throat, “They thought you were dying. Painfully.”

  “Oh.”

  The men conversed for a short time with Simon presumably assuring the commander that Gemma was physically stable and not mentally disturbed. Finally, Aiek addressed Simon and performed a deep bow, which left Simon visibly uncomfortable.

  The time had truly come for Gemma to make studying their language a priority after an uncomfortable realization that she might never meet anyone ever again, besides Simon, who would understand her human speech.

  She was the alien.

  Perplexed rather than alarmed by her new status, she turned to Simon. “What is he saying?”

  “Commander expresses his honor at having me on his station,” he said curtly, giving her an impression that he’d rather not elaborate.

  She thought to the contrary. “You’re known to him?”

  “Not personally, no.”

  “Simon,” she admonished when it was clear he wasn’t going to say more.

  “He knows of me,” he obliged, “he’s heard of my previous service. That is the only reason we’re still alive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gemma, I…” he was having a hard time admitting it. “I couldn't breach the laser shield.”

  “But you did! We’re here. It worked.”

  “It didn’t work like I knew it never would. Butan couldn't turn like I needed it to turn. Commander Aiek,” he indicated the man who was listening raptly to their exchange without understanding a word of it, “he dimmed the shield. When he saw me attempt the approach, he recognized the right maneuvering but he also knew I wasn’t going to make it. Not in that rusty bucket. Not with that speed. Definitely not with the wide angles thing. He gave it a leap of faith and let us in.”

  Gemma pressed her hands to her mouth, overcome by a new desire to cry. Aiek’s head snapped back and he gazed at Simon seeking further reassurance that his alien guest wouldn't succumb, after all.