A casual observer might claim Ahngi-te hadn’t changed. Riston wasn’t a casual observer.
The two other times Riston had visited Nea-gi, ze’d been able to forget the war every occupied system in the quadrant had been fighting for the last five-hundred-fifty-plus Terra-Sol cycles. Now, a peacekeeper was stationed at every corner, each wearing a helmet Riston knew was equipped with a camera. Behind their face shields, their eyes tracked both the information on the embedded screens and the shoppers meandering through the market. Extra screens had been installed above the shop marquees, their displays rotating between news feeds, advertisements, and government propaganda. However, like the peacekeepers’ helmets, these units included cameras and microphones equipped for facial and vocal recognition. Both screens and peacekeepers were not only monitoring for outside threats and serious violence, but also for hints of civil unrest. According to the PCGC’s latest update, anyway.
Even if the government wasn’t beginning to turn their all-seeing eyes inward, they still logged the IDs of every visitor to their pristine city. Riston was glad the ID chip Cira had given zem when ze’d boarded Pax Novis three cycles ago was good enough to hold up against any routine scrutiny.
But that didn’t erase the uncomfortable tingling sensation of being watched. It was distinct from the uncomfortable sensation of being pulled down toward the planet’s surface with every step—that ze knew well after three Terra-Sol cycles spent in artificial and not-quite-planetary-weight gravity. Ze’d learned how to shrug off the weight and pressure of a true gravitational force, strolling as though ze didn’t feel it any more than the natives. The niggling conviction someone was watching zem, though…
Ze passed another intersection, and the peacekeeper’s head turned to track zir progress. Heart jumping, Riston forced zirself to keep zir pace, to look directly into the pale eyes of the gray-clad peacekeeper, and to nod a greeting. After a beat, ze got a curt nod in response.
No alarms rang. No force appeared to apprehend zem. However, the moment made zem hyperaware, and ze wasn’t the only one on edge. There was an air of disquiet today, almost like the city’s atmo-filters had malfunctioned and pumped in a hint of the lower atmosphere’s sulfur dioxide, just enough to leave everyone on the verge of panic and unable to explain why. Riston hadn’t been in a place that felt like this since the weeks before Ladadhi was destroyed. Given how that had ended, Riston was glad ze wouldn’t be around to see what—if anything—was coming for Ahngi-te.
And ze still didn’t have a present for Cira.
Riston really was more worried about Ahngi-te’s hidden panic than zir failed shopping trip, but one problem was solvable. The other wasn’t. Ze couldn’t fix what was wrong here. Getting Cira a gift to say thank you for…well, for everything? That should’ve been within zir power. Ze was out of time, though. If ze didn’t head for the docks now, ze’d miss the last shuttle to the space station. It looked like ze’d be leaving Nea-gi with exactly the same number of credits ze’d arrived with.
After scanning the ID chip implanted in zir wrist at five different checkpoints, ze was finally allowed to board the shuttle. Ze was just early enough to get the seat in the far rear corner, and ze quickly stowed zir pack underneath the seat. The position wasn’t out of sight of anyone on board the shuttle by any means, but it was easily overlooked. That’s what ze needed to be—easily overlooked.
Riston was one of the many war orphans who’d gone missing somewhere along the convoluted route to “safety.” Zir new ID was good, but nothing was perfect, and if some perceptive security tech monitoring the shuttle’s passengers tagged zem as questionable, ze’d be grabbed as ze exited, arrested, and likely never seen again. A few cycles ago, ze might’ve been sent to work in the mines or the factories scattered across the barren planet’s surface. Now, ze was practically eighteen. There would be no slow death in the mines; ze’d be shoved straight into military service to die quickly. It didn’t even matter which army ze was shoved into because, when stripped down to the core and weighted on an even scale, all the systems came out looking just as guilty and just as innocent as any other. The only way ze’d ever see the stars again was in the hold of some warship on zir way to invade some other underfed, beleaguered colony. The only time ze’d ever see Pax Novis again would be in video archives.
And Cira? Getting caught would mean never seeing her again. After, of course, getting hauled in front of Captain Erryla Antares and her officers and being forced to watch confusion cross their faces as they told the guards they had no idea who this imposter was, but ze certainly wasn’t a member of their crew. Captain Antares would be telling the truth when she said she didn’t recognize Riston; Cira wouldn’t be. Cira would lie about Riston to protect the other stowaways, to protect her mother, and to protect Pax Novis, the ship so many people called home. Ze wouldn’t even blame her. The ship and its crew were far more important than zem.
Someone settled into the seat next to zem, and Riston closed zir eyes, resting zir temple against the bulkhead and hoping that’d be enough to deter zir new travel partner from striking up a conversation. After listening to several deep breaths, though, Riston wasn’t surprised to hear a raspy tenor voice say, “Excuse me?”
Reluctantly, ze opened zir eyes and glanced at zir seatmate. They were taller than zem, even sitting down, and wiry in the way people tended to be when they grew up in artificial rather than planetary gravity. They were several decades older, too, if Riston had to guess, and yet they held themselves back from Riston with a polite deference. Their glances down at zir pristine white uniform seemed filled with longing. It took a few seconds of increasingly awkward silence before they cleared their throat and finally began to speak again.
“It feels strange to ask, but I don’t often see a PCCS officer in person rather than on a screen.” They waited, and when all Riston did was raise zir eyebrow, the stranger continued. “Do you know how many engineering positions will roll over to general application this cycle?”
Riston blinked. “Sorry, no. I don’t. Are you thinking about applying?”
“I already have.” They smiled, the expression laden and layered. “Every time I finish a new degree program, I try again. If there’s an engineering slot open this cycle, this will be the fifteenth time I’ve put myself up for consideration.”
Which shouldn’t have been surprising. Once the Pax Governing Council had entered its second century, the number of applications for citizenship rose, and the number of acceptances plummeted. PSSC society had boomed from within, and enough children had been born into Pax families to make recruitment a much lower priority. The Council no longer needed to risk bringing in outsiders who might—whether wittingly or unwittingly—bias others for or against a particular system. Now, out of the thousands upon thousands of applications the council received, only those with expertise in at least one necessary field were accepted.
This person had studied for cycles and still not been deemed good enough. What gave Riston the right to wear this uniform when it had been constantly denied to someone who’d worked for it? Guilt pulled on Riston’s stomach like a gravity well.
“You were born into the PCGC service, weren’t you?” Their words were rushed, and their expression tense. It was a question most people wouldn’t dare ask.
The only answer Riston could give was, “Yes. It’s been my family’s home for generations,” even if that was what ze wished instead of what was actually true.
The stranger nodded. “You don’t understand how lucky you are, then. Out here, I…I think the only time I ever feel safe is when I’m on a station where a Pax ship is docked. As long as that ship is there, I know no fleet will risk knowingly or openly launching an attack.”
I know exactly what you mean. Ze, however, hadn’t had the same realization until ze’d been on Pax Novis for several months. Ze’d been watching mirrored data from the ship’s sensors and spotted a small squadron of Araean fighters on the edge of Novis’s sensor range. The fleet remained wi
thin range for several hours, but not once had Riston been worried they’d change course or lock weapons on Pax Novis. Not only would attacking a Pax ship get a system dropped from the fleet’s delivery schedule, they’d also automatically break every one of their alliances. Ze’d felt absolutely secure hidden within the white walls of a PCCS. The realization had almost floored zem. It had been the moment ze’d decided to beg Cira to let zem stay even though they had been mere days away from the end of their original agreement and ze had been about to leave the ship behind for good.
Sometimes, ze still had a hard time believing she’d said yes.
When they opened their mouth to speak again, Riston knew ze didn’t want to hear anything else, and didn’t want to answer more questions. An uncomfortable mix of guilt and resentment churned in zir gut, each feeling so strong ze wasn’t sure if ze was more likely to punch the stranger or throw up on them if the discussion carried on. So ze quickly forced a small smile and said, “Good luck this cycle.”
Their mouth closed with an audible snap. It took a few seconds, though, for them to exhale and give up on the conversation.
Then the shuttle doors sealed, the hull began to hum as the engines came to life, and the craft slowly eased away from the city’s dock. Riston rarely watched the viewscreen on these flights—ze cared a lot more about where ze was going than anything ze was leaving behind—but this time ze kept zir eyes focused solely on the receding city, a massive white disc-shaped platform protected by a dome of glittering glass. The dual light of the system’s suns sent prisms reflecting in every direction, and it created a series of broken rainbows over the intermittent flashes of lightning in the clouds below.
It was a spectacle billions of people in the galaxy would never see. Although Riston appreciated the beauty of the scene, ze couldn’t help exhaling in relief when the shuttle rattled as it blasted through the final turbulent layer of Nea-gi’s atmosphere. Another minute and the flight smoothed out. Soon, Mitu, the largest space station in the system, came into sight, and with it came Pax Novis.
In Riston’s admittedly biased opinion, Novis was the best ship in the galaxy. It was home, and seeing it always sent pleasureful chills across zir skin. Despite zir failed search in the market for Cira’s gift and the bitingly unpleasant thoughts the brief conversation with zir seatmate had stirred up, ze knew ze’d feel better as soon as ze was back on board. The stranger had been right—the only safe place in human-occupied space was on board a Pax-class cargo ship.
The gleaming white hull of PCCS Novis extended from its docking port in either direction, so big it looked more like a new extension of Mitu Station that just hadn’t been painted yet. From most angles, Pax Novis looked like a massive white multifaceted rectangle with three saucer-shaped sections rising from one end. Those were the living quarters, kept separate from the command and cargo sectors where the crew worked. Forward, the body split to create a massive external cargo hold. Modular cargo pods were held between twin gangways extending from the main body, and a quick look told Riston’s knowledgeable eye that the last of the modpods were about to be fixed in place.
Ze’d spent more time on the planet than ze’d realized. Either that or the Mitu’s loading crew had been quicker than usual in uncoupling the containers destined for this port and attaching new ones. Hurrying, Riston grabbed zir pack, disembarked, and jogged through the shuttle bay while simultaneously digging through the pack for zir coat. The uniform always served zem well planetside, but on stations it tended to bring more questions than respect. Workers in port recognized the personnel who handled docking each Pax vessel. Someone seeing a new face in a familiar uniform would only bring Riston the wrong sort of attention.
Struggling to keep moving while fixing the set of the coat over zir shoulders, ze aimed for a supply closet on the far end of the massive shuttle bay. Zir vacuum suit was hidden inside, covered by the detritus a station collected and forgot about after operating for more than six hundred Terra-Sol cycles.
As Riston approached the hallway leading to the machine shops and storage compartments, ze cast one last look back at the busy bay. Ze hadn’t passed through the room without being seen—that was impossible—but it didn’t seem like anyone was giving zem more than a casual glance, and that was good enough. Picking up zir pace, ze rounded the corner—
And collided with someone coming toward zem from the opposite direction.
The other person cursed and stumbled backward a few steps before catching themselves on the wall. “Damn, watch where you’re going, you—” They looked up and the words stopped.
So did Riston’s heart. It had been a few cycles, and the time between their last meeting on Datax and now hadn’t been kind, but there was no mistaking Minya Pon. On the same day she earned the three-prong scar marring her left cheek, her jaw, and the length of her neck, she had, inadvertently, saved Riston’s life once on Datax. If she recognized zem now, though, she might also inadvertently end it.
“Stars,” Minya breathed. “You look so much like…”
“Sorry about running into you.” Heart pounding so hard ze could barely hear zirself think, Riston picked up the bag ze’d dropped and looked anywhere but at Minya’s painfully familiar face. “Hope I didn’t hurt you. I’ll watch where I’m going better next time.”
“Wait, are you—”
Ze didn’t stick around to hear the end of the question. Walking at a fast clip, ze was down the hall and around the corner in seconds. Only when ze was out of sight did ze release a shuddering breath and look down.
She hadn’t seen the uniform. Although zir coat wasn’t on quite right, all that was visible of the clothing underneath was a strip of white. That was better. Not okay, but better, because even though Minya had seen zir face, she wouldn’t be able to report that an orphan she’d known on Datax—one who was probably considered either missing or dead by everyone who’d known zir name—had inexplicably turned up dressed like a Pax officer. No one cared where orphans turned up so long as they weren’t costing anyone credits or time. Impersonating a Pax officer, though, would get Riston tossed in a prison cell for at least a full cycle. And if they decided to look closer at the only Pax ship docked at Mitu when ze was captured because ze’d been careless? That would cause problems ze’d never forgive zirself for.
Bile rose in zir throat, and zir hands shook as ze pulled the coat tighter around zirself, but ze managed to pick up the pace without stumbling. One more main corridor, one smaller side passage, and ze was finally at the supply closet. Ze stopped outside the door, took a deep breath, and tried not to look like ze was on the verge of absolute panic as ze stepped inside.
Thankfully, the room was empty. No one was inside, and zir vac suit was the only one left in the room. The others had left nothing but a note behind.
Wish you were here, Zazi.
Hope you didn’t get lost.
G-Tr-S-Ti-
Thank the stars. All four of them—Greenie, Tinker, Shadow, and Treble—had been and gone safely, then. If ze didn’t hurry, Novis would leave without zem.
It only took two minutes and thirteen seconds to fit the suit on over zir PCCS uniform—ze’d done this so many times over the cycles, ze could probably beat a seasoned Marine—but it was harder than ever today. Zir hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Fear and an overactive imagination turned every sound outside the door into Minya directing the station’s security to search for zem, but no one came into the room. No one even tried.
Still, despite knowing that ze was cutting it extraordinarily close, ze waited seven full minutes to be sure the hallway outside the closet was clear. Ze’d rather be left behind than risk trouble following zem back to Cira.
The trip from the corridor to the emergency air lock usually took three minutes. Riston’s heart was still pounding double time, and zir breath came so quickly it was creating spots of fog on the inside of zir helmet. For the entire trip, every camera on the suit was on and active, projecting their independent views in a row of tiny
boxes in zir periphery. Movement behind and to the left registered on one of the sensors. Riston flattened zirself against the wall seconds before Minya crossed at a nearby intersection. She was walking slowly, scanning up and down the hall as she passed, but she didn’t stop, and she seemed to be alone. But she might be back.
As soon as Minya was out of sight, Riston ran. Two more corridors and the air lock was right in front of zem. This, though, was the hardest part. It took at least nine minutes to go through the protocols to “test” the air lock and assure it that, yes, ze really did want the blasted thing to open, and yes, ze really meant it, and no, don’t alert the station engineer, dammit!
Then, finally, the gravity of the station released zem. Shoving aside everything but the empty stretch of space ahead, Riston pushed into the black where few of zir problems could follow. Ze activated the suit’s small thrusters and aimed zirself straight for home.
Station Security Video Feed
Gaivai Station, Casseta System
Terra-Sol date 3809.100
Transcript below
[A family of three, all wearing the white uniforms of the PSSC, are walking through the loading dock of Gaivai Station. They stop when the youngest, a child of approximately eight cycles, sees a long line of children being guided onto an old passenger vessel. Most of the children’s clothes are either torn, stained, or both, and several are crying quietly. None look at any of the people who’ve stopped to watch the procession.]
Erryla Antares: [quietly] Of course, this had to happen today.
Cira Antares: Where are they going, Mama?
Meida Dalil-Antares: A new home. [muttered] Hopefully.
Cira: What happened to their old home?
[Meida and Erryla exchange glances; Erryla crouches next to Cira]
Erryla: You remember we talked about the war? [Cira nods] And you remember we talked about how sometimes, when one system attacks another, people sometimes die?
Pax Novis Page 3
