by London, Lia
In turn, he helped me understand the spacey world view. If a socio-economic hierarchy existed, it placed the Interplanetary City-Stations at the top with the Arxon as the head of the fleet.
Between everything Dag could tell me about onboard politics and what I could read in the library’s archives, the colonies operated with a great deal of autonomy, but some interacted with each other or the ICS system more than others. Rik Peninsula, with its vast natural resources in agriculture, provided food for much of the spaceys, and Garvey Colony on Craggy mined many of the metal ores needed to keep the City-Stations aloft.
For some reason neither one of us could discover, life on the Surface involved less technology. We guessed it might have been due to the original colonists’ desire to escape the spacey world. There was also a greater risk of injury or illness, and that alone created a barrier between the spaceys and the colonists. The former viewed the latter as somewhat savage, and all who walked the planets eyed the spaceys with the distrust given to self-interested cowards.
It was a bleak conglomeration, and only gypsies navigated through all of it with any fluidity, and this because our expectations of comfort were lower.
On our last night together, we sat facing a window in the cafeteria watching a distant point in the starry sky.
“We were right, by the way. That is a comet,” said Dag. “The astronomers have named it CAZ935.”
I scoffed. “Not a very romantic name for something so beautiful.”
Dag stilled, his gaze locking on mine pensively. “No, it should have a lovely name.” He studied at me as if scanning an interesting new holo-vid. “Brita Glenn,” he said at last. “You are like a comet. A gypsy comet lighting up this sector of the sky for a brief time. I’m so very happy our orbits intersected. I’ll always remember the vision you’ve opened before me.”
My mouth still hung open when he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and departed without another word.
OOO
The next morning, instead of hurrying to the library, I shuffled with my packing crate to the ferry dock.
A woman with a bored official stance confirmed my reservation and directed me to stow my crate. “This’ll be a water landing east of the main atoll in Ikekane North. Expect a water ferry retrieval within an hour.” She frowned at me. “The other six passengers you were supposed to go down with have all cancelled due to quarantine issues. You really couldn’t wait another rotation? This is going to be an expensive drop for one person.”
Her request took me completely off guard. “I’m the only one going down?”
“You and the pilot.”
“Will he wait until I’m picked up?”
“That’ll be up to him.”
I simply couldn’t afford to spend another eight-month rotation on the Arxon or a private transport to take me down. Lifting my chin, I summoned the voice I imagined my grandmother might have used. “I have important business to conduct that cannot wait. I must go down now, and I’ve already transferred payment to do so.”
A flicker of respect seemed to cross the woman’s face before she settled into a reluctant slouch. “All right. I didn’t realize you were a dignitary.”
Maybe she meant it sarcastically, but I decided to go with it. “Yes, well. I’m hoping for a very lucrative venture that will benefit my people.”
“Drop is in twelve minutes, then. Be sure to remain fastened into your harness while you enter the atmosphere and until the ferry comes to a complete stop.”
“Of course.”
I turned to duck inside the small circular craft but stopped when I heard a male voice.
“Is that Brita Glenn?”
I spun to see a middle-aged man trot up. “Dr. Artemus found this.” He held up a black digi-pad of a different design than I’d seen. The man handed it to me. “You forgot your SWaTT in his office, I guess.”
“My…” I clamped my mouth shut, unwilling to reveal Dag’s lie. “Thank you for getting this to me. I would have missed it sorely.”
Stepping into the ferry, I cradled it to my chest. When we began the descent to Tye, I activated the device. It lit up with a screen of print, but it wasn’t an official document or file at all.
Brita~
I hope you will not think I am crossing a line to give you this gift. It’s a SWaTT (System Wide Text Transmitter). Perhaps you could use it to stay in touch and tell me about your adventures on Tye. If I can’t go to the Surface myself, I’ll be pleased to see it through the eyes of a Gypsy Comet. I shall be watching for the blaze as your ferry enters the atmosphere, and I wish you a safe journey.
Your friend,
Dag Artemus
A ghost of his kiss brushed my forehead again, and warmth surged through me. With my father’s patchwork satchel and Dag’s device, I felt connected to people who cared about me, and it gave me strength and courage for my journey.
5 ~ Rough Landing
After teaching myself to use the SWaTT, I sent a simple message of thanks to Dag and settled in for a nap. Without anyone else on board, it was the best way to pass the time. The circular room, not three meters in diameter, held two curved banks of seats on either side and a tiny lavatory opposite the entrance hatch. Otherwise, it was featureless.
The pilot’s cockpit rested on top of the ferry, though I’d never seen the inside of one. Engineers had yet to find a way to run the ferries unmanned. Too many variables awaited on the Surface with water landings, and people did not trust their lives to a machine in such cases.
The pilot’s voice came through a speaker. “Two minutes until we begin atmospheric entry. Please be sure your harness is fastened securely.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, though I knew he couldn’t hear me. I’d taken enough ferries to know the shaking, followed by the weightless feeling until the parachutes deployed, was best endured when strapped down.
Moments later, the rumbling began. I closed my eyes and prattled to myself in the same voice my father used to calm me on all our ferry drops. “It’s all right. It’s just the wind shaking the panels. It’s hot because we’re finally in sunlight again. It’ll hold together. Don’t worry.”
My teeth clicked against each other, and I was careful to keep my tongue free of them lest I draw blood. Sweat trickled down the side of my face, and I gripped the harness straps tightly. The louder the sounds of torqueing metal, the more I trembled within. Surely this sounded worse than usual?
The heat and deafening roar dissipated slightly, and I felt my feet lift from the floor. Loose strands of my hair crept upward into the air. The ferry was in freefall now, hurtling towards the surface. I waited patiently for the pilot to announce the parachutes deploying. A jolt always followed, and then the steady return of gravity.
I waited.
I waited.
I counted to a hundred, then a thousand.
No word.
And then a crashing sound startled my eyes open, and I was almost ripped from the harness completely. The lights went out.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
The straps pulled at my shoulders with uneven pressure because of the precarious angle at which we were descending. In frustration, I released the latch and sprawled onto the floor.
A dim light flickered on, an emergency back-up, no doubt, and then the ferry settled into a soft swaying motion. The automatic release of the hatch seal popped loudly and took my breath away. I scrambled towards the sound. Prying the door open, I blinked out at the waves and exhaled a sigh of relief.
We’d landed.
I slumped back down onto the seat closest to the door and breathed in the salty air wafting through the open hatch. Closing my eyes, I listened for sounds of the pilot reporting our estimated pick-up time, but the speaker remained silent. I wrangled with the latch to the small cargo hold and tugged out my patchwork satchel and crate full of clothes.
Willing the pilot to say something, I stretched my legs and stood again, peering out into the late afternoon brightness. Curio
us about the pilot, I tried to perch on the rim of the hatch and peek up over the top. The exterior metals had cooled significantly in the descent and with the water, and I ventured out onto the deployed flotation ring to test the temperature of the rungs. Using my sleeves as protective mitts, I climbed up about a meter and gasped.
Blood smeared the cockpit window, and beyond the smudge of bright red, the captain drooped, unconscious or dead. I pounded on the tiny window, and when he didn’t respond, I cast my eyes around and noted a red and white parachute draped over the craft and into the water. There were supposed to be three!
As I stared at the lone, soggy parachute, an ache settled into my shoulders and collarbone, reminding me of the jolt I’d received. Without the harness, I might well have been killed in the crash.
Shielding my eyes against the glare of the low-hanging sun, I finally spotted land. The direction of the tide pushed in our favor towards the rising atoll.
Worry shook me. Had the control station on Ikekane tracked our fall? Would the water ferry get here in time to save him if he were still alive?
I hammered the window again and again, screaming for him to wake up, but he didn’t move. Perhaps I saw his shoulders rise and fall, but it could have been the motion of the ferry, bobbing on the swells.
Weary, scared, and sore, I crept back down into the ferry cabin to wait.
OOO
Darkness settled in with the oppressive weight of rain-laden clouds before the sun blinked out on the horizon. Shortly after, a steady wind began pushing from the northeast. With each passing hour, I despaired of rescue. Why hadn’t the Ikekane control station sent out help? I could see a hint of the land in a few random points of light, and at the rate the ferry was drifting on the tide, I feared missing the atoll completely and sailing right through the archipelago to the open ocean beyond.
Beside me, a red dot flashed, adding nothing to the poor illumination of the emergency light above me. It was the SWaTT. I snatched it up and fumbled with the controls.
Brita, are you alive? I heard there was a problem with the ferry.
I gaped. The Arxon knew of my plight?
Hunched over the device, I tried to compose my thoughts as I tapped at the controls. I am alive and mostly just shaken up. The pilot lost blood from his head and is not responding, but I can’t reach him through the cockpit. Only one of the three parachutes deployed. The water ferry hasn’t come to get us yet. I have no idea why.
His response surprised me. Can you swim?
Of course.
How far away is the land?
Dag had obviously never tried to gauge distances on the open sea where the lack of reference points makes it impossible. I guessed. Half a kilometer.
Take with you only what you need and swim to shore. No water ferry is coming to retrieve you.
Why not?
I didn’t know if he had access to this kind of information, but a few minutes later, he replied. From what I can gather, they know the pilot’s comm is out and assume he’s dead.
Didn’t they care about me? A heavy certainty pressed on me. Of course, they didn’t. A lone gypsy passenger wasn’t worth a rescue effort. I glanced at the half-open hatch and the dark swells beyond.
Do you really think it’s worth the risk?
There was a pause. It seems that both action and inaction present dangers.
Action or inaction. I sighed and squinted out at the points of light twinkling in the distance. The waters of Ikekane weren’t so cold.
I blew a stream of air through pursed lips and calculated which things I most needed with me. Ultimately, the clothes could be replaced with the sale of one or two gypsy remedies. I examined the satchel as best I could in the dim light and determined the waterproof seals of the inner pockets remained intact.
I’ll swim, I typed. Exchanging a shuddering breath for a calming one, I slipped the SWaTT in with my vials and boxes and sealed the pockets shut.
Changing into my most form-fitting leggings and donning my lightest boots, I cast my eyes around the tiny cabin. For several minutes, I hesitated, tracking the ferry’s movements in relationship to a fixed light. I could see five consistent bright points stretching from left to right across the shore. I’d need to head left and swim counter to the current. Hopefully I had not been too far off on my guess for distance. I could swim about two kilometers at most, and that was in favorable waters with no extra weight.
As if to urge me forward, the ferry listed to one side, answering to a hissing in the flotation ring.
I took one last breath to steel myself against the ordeal and jumped. To my relief the water temperature wasn’t jarring. The wind, however, bit into my exposed head and shoulders.
With my satchel dragging behind me, I set off with long strokes, keeping my eyes locked on the second point of light from the left.
6 ~ Rainy Night
I have no idea how long I swam, but it must have been about an hour, by which time I’d lost to the current enough that the fifth light was my last, desperate goal. Whispers of Levia’s famed strength came to my mind, and I wished I could borrow it, both physically and mentally. Riddled with fatigue and breathing hard, I struggled not to cry because it messed up my breathing.
Right as my muscles protested their loudest, the rain began, adding a cold weight to my head and a deafening roar in my ears. More and more often, I caught an accidental mouthful of salt water, and this increased my thirst.
White foamy sprays ahead sent a mixture of hope and apprehension through me. They signified water hitting land, but how hard? How jagged?
The swells came faster now, more predictably, and soon I felt myself bodysurfing. All at once, I rose up on a larger wave, able to see the patch of shore and a great monolith of volcanic stone looming dead ahead. I winced, unable to redirect my course. Kicking and flailing, I felt something in the water next to me, riding the same wave. As the water curled and rushed, a soft tumble of inhuman bodies bumped against me. Then something gripped my wrist and pulled.
I screamed just before it dragged me under in a racing stream of salty bubbles. A moment later, I found my feet touching the pebbled bottom. Coughing and spluttering, I heaved myself through breakers that seemed to run alongside me. In the blackness, chittering noises surrounded me, and several pairs of golden eyes blinked before disappearing into the water.
I gasped and spewed salty bile before stumbling up the shore. Standing for a moment, gazing out into the darkness, I tried to imagine what had just happened, but none of it made sense.
The magnitude of what I’d done both overwhelmed me and filled me with a sense of accomplishment. My mother would have been terrified by my boldness, but perhaps Levia would have been proud.
To my dismay, the light on the shore was not that of a home, but a lantern marking a switchback trail up the outside of the atoll. Rain and wind followed me up the stony path, mocking my feeble steps, but at length I saw a form ahead, a rectangle of stillness. Parked in a patch of vine-like undergrowth, a small structure invited me in. Not much larger than the cabin of the ferry and crowded with crates and shelves, it would have to do.
Too tired to move another muscle, I shut the door behind me and folded myself onto the narrow available space on the floor, grateful for the trusting nature of the native who left the little shop unlocked.
7 ~ Mittur and Biddy
“Mama Biddy! A lady’s here!”
I bolted upright, blinded by a shaft of light, trying to remember where I was. In that time, I focused my bleary, salt-caked eyes on a little bronzed girl with black hair hanging to her waist and the charming chubbiness of a toddler.
Aching in every joint, I pulled myself stiffly to my feet and picked up my patchwork satchel. A quick glance around me confirmed I’d spent the night in one of the many tiny food establishments that catered to pedestrian tourists. They served pina and other tropical fruits from the smell of it.
A heavyset woman with a larger version of the little girl’s face stood
holding the door open. “Well, heya!” She clapped in greeting as was the custom of Ikekane colonists. “What are you sleeping here for?”
Aware I probably resembled a pile of seaweed, I clapped my hands and held them pleadingly to my chest. “I’m so sorry. The ferry… I swam to shore last night and…”
The woman bustled in, flipping on a light switch and surveying the scene. “Didn’t you eat anything?”
My eyes widened. “What? No!”
“She didn’t even touch a box!” called the woman over her shoulder.
A muscular man whose lined face hinted at decades of smiling poked his head over the woman’s shoulder. “No, but she left a flood.”
“Now, Mittur. It rained hard last night. This poor thing’s from the ferry that went south.”
I swallowed. “You heard about that?”
“Kohala bosses sent boats out to search for it, but there was nothing left floating but the ’chute.”
I grimaced. “The pilot?”
The man shook his head, and a wave of guilt washed over me.
“It’s my fault.” I groaned.
“How do you guess that?” the man said, gently shoving past the woman and lifting the little girl onto the interior serving counter.
“They wanted to cancel the drop because I was the only one coming down.”
“Then you saved lives,” said the woman, cracking open a crate on one of the shelves.
“What? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Those ’chutes were faulty either way. If they’d waited for a bigger passenger drop, maybe more would’ve died.”
