by James Welsh
“Hammer,” Ishmael Wednesday said from his chair, “do you mind?”
Phaethon Hammer stopped beating a rhythm against the armrest and looked up. “Sorry – I didn’t think I was that loud.”
The third passenger – a young man with slicked-back, proud hair but a scruffy beard – laughed. Michel Friar asked, “You didn’t think you were that loud? I thought you were sending Morse back to the colony.”
“Boys,” the pilot’s chair spoke, “play nice.”
“Well, it’s true,” Hammer shrugged. “I was tapping out Morse. I was trying to tell the colony that I’m dying of boredom and need medical assistance.”
“We’ve only been flying for ten minutes,” the pilot’s chair pointed out.
“I read about a bug back home that doesn’t even live for that long. Ten minutes is a lifetime for some, you know.”
The ancient Wednesday shook his head. “Once you get to my age, you’ve seen enough days that the time gets watered down. I can’t tell the difference between a minute and an hour anymore.” He looked over at Friar and suddenly laughed at his own joke.
Curious, Friar asked, “Alright, old man, you’re going to have to tell me: what’s it about me you’re finding so funny?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Wednesday said casually. But he couldn’t resist – after a few moments, he added, “I was just thinking how you probably wished you were elderly.”
“Why would I wish that?”
“If you couldn’t tell the difference between an hour and a minute, you’d think you were more impressive with the women back at the colony.”
As Hammer hunched over with laughter, a sour Friar muttered, “You tell someone something, and you might as well tell them everything.”
A face appeared from around the pilot’s chair, her tumble of oak hair bouncing as she turned. It was a popular rumor around the colony that Alya Bliss had never learned to smile. Perhaps this was true, but it was only because her gray wolf eyes were always laughing. She announced, “We’ll be there in exactly eight minutes. It’s time to start putting on your gear.”
As the passengers unlatched their harnesses, they floated out of their chairs. Although their ship was sailing at sub-light speeds, the gravity beams installed in the hull cancelled out the crushing acceleration. If they were traveling thousands of miles a second, they certainly didn’t show it. Still, it was a strange feeling for the crew, as if they were levitating on a flying arrowhead.
As each man slipped into his spacesuit, the laughter dimmed. A thousand years before, a soldier wore the colors of his king out of loyalty. A few hundred years before, a businessman wore the same tie his boss wore out of loyalty. And now, the three miners wore spacewalking suits splashed with the amber color of their charter out of loyalty. They clicked their helmets into place and wore them like masks, now looking like a crew of serious astronauts, giving the mission before them the respect it deserved.
It was just an hour before when one of the quantum drills orbiting Carina, mining its starlight, had suffered a seizure in its system. The miners usually diagnosed malfunctioning equipment as a nuisance rather than a concern – in spite of the fact that sometimes it felt like drowning in a sea of moving parts. Usually, all it took was remotely accessing the software and finding the break in the coding. Like one cancer cell destroying your body from the inside, one error in the code could cause the drills to spin out of control or reverse their intake of the starlight.
But while they normally patched the code from the boredom of Harbor, this drill was striving to be different. It was conveniently positioned on the other side of the Carina when it had malfunctioned. While the miners knew from their neighborhood of satellites that the drill had broken down, the star was in the way and obscured their attempts to revive the drill remotely. To make matters worse, the break had affected the drill’s solar sails: this fabric absorbed starlight and in turn propelled the machinery in its orbit. With its own guide lost, the drill was left tumbling in space – and if their calculations were correct, the drill’s current trajectory placed it on a collision course with the star. Their hope was to capture the drill and bring it back to a safe orbit for repair, and they didn’t have much time to do so. And they had to make do with only one launch – usually two launches were used to tow the drills, but the others were either back at the colony or under maintenance themselves.
As Ship Digamma curved around their home star, the window automatically tinting to balance out Carina’s blinding light, there was a sudden beeping noise at the control pad. Bliss glanced over and noticed the drill’s beacon signal blinking on her map screen.
“Well, at least the homing beacon’s still working,” she muttered to herself. Then, she spoke up to the others over the radio, since they already had their helmets clicked into place, “Okay, gentlemen, I have the drill in my sights. We’re going to be there in exactly seventy seconds.”
And it was not seventy seconds too soon – already, the drill looked like an ink blot against the star. It would not be long – perhaps a handful of minutes at least – until the drill would become lost in the star’s fury.
Without looking away from the tinted star, Bliss commanded, “Get into the airlock. Let me know when you all are ready and we’ll…”
Before Bliss could finish her sentence, the launch finished it for her. A jolt suddenly rippled through the hull, as if they flew into something, but there was nothing there. At the same second, Bliss yelped and yanked her gloved hands out of the water panels used for controlling the launch. As she shook her hands, her body twitching involuntarily, Wednesday called out over the radio, “Pilot Bliss, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I don’t – I don’t know. I think I just got shocked,” Bliss said, confused and breathing loudly. In all of her years flying launches, she had never been shocked by the water panels before. She didn’t think it was even possible. She twisted in her chair to face the miners – they were looking back at her, with worry glowing in their faces.
She opened her mouth as if to say something more, and that was when she noticed it. All around her, the lights in the cockpit were being doused – but paradoxically, the cockpit was brightening. That was when she realized that the automatic tint on the window was lifting, and the starlight was pouring into the launch like floodwaters.
“Nobody look!” Bliss yelled. “Turn away and close your eyes!”
But her warning was silent, as the radio was gone too. Two of the miners could see the curtain lifting, though, and they turned away just in time. But the third – Phaethon Hammer – was not quick enough. Hammer screamed and twisted as if a light bulb had burst inside of his eyes, the brutal sunshine drowning his retinas. He wrenched his helmet off and tried frantically to rub the life back into his eyes. The tears he bled rinsed over his sensitive eyes, the saltwater burning them even more.
With her eyes squeezed shut, Bliss unclicked her helmet to hear the curdling screams of the blinded miner. She fumbled for her harness and managed to unbuckle herself from her seat. She pushed off and floated across the cabin of the launch, guided only by Hammer’s sobbing. She bumped into who she thought was Hammer, but then she heard Wednesday’s bewildered voice, as he had removed his helmet.
“What’s happening?”
“We have to save Phaethon!”
“But we’re flying into the star!”
“But Phaethon,” Bliss said, trying control the shake in her voice.
She felt around some more until she found Hammer’s convulsing body. His hands were clawing at his teary face, and it took all Bliss had to pry away his powerful hands. She pressed her hand tightly against his eyes. She wrapped her other arm around Hammer’s chest.
“It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,” Bliss whispered into his ear, over and over again.
It was all she could have done. The launch had lost all power and there was no way to slow it down. Back on Earth, air resistance was strong enough to stop the tyranny of a moving objec
t. But in the dead of space, there was no air to slow them down. And with the control system broken, they were on a bullet that had been just fired at the star – their death within the next few minutes would be the only thing that could slow them down.
She heard Friar’s voice, barely – it sounded distant, as if he were miles away. “What happened to the ship?”
“There was an overload on the ship’s engine!”
“How’s that possible?”
“I don’t know! Maybe there was a solar wind that fried the turbine!”
She said this, knowing that was impossible. She had checked the forecast before they had left Harbor, and there was no prediction of a solar storm. And even if there was one, her warning system would have alerted her well before the strike. But there was no time to dwell on that. As the pilot, she felt the motherly urge to save her crew. She thought of opening the back hatch and them jumping out into space with their suits on. But with the ship’s system down, it would be impossible to open the hatch to escape. And even if they could, there was no launch available at Harbor to come to their rescue. And even if there was, the oxygen tanks on their spacesuits wouldn’t last that long.
They were going to die, and there was nothing Bliss could do about it.
There was a sudden shudder, followed by a screech that ran the entire length of the hull. It felt like their world was rattling loose. Friar called out over the metallic scream, “What’s that?”
This time, Bliss had an answer. “It’s the drill! We just bounced off it!”
Bliss felt a stab of hope – what if the bounce off the quantum drill knocked them off their trajectory into the star? But, if anything, the light inside of the cockpit was becoming louder, and Bliss knew her end was just moments away now.
Hammer’s body became very still between her hug, although she could still hear him crying softly, his tears still splashing against the soothing palm of her hand. He was still in agony, but even though the pain, he knew that he was going to be sleeping soon. They were all going to be sleeping soon. It was then that the launch dove into the atmosphere of the star, crumbling apart in the oven. No more than five seconds later, the ship had vanished entirely, with the broken drill tumbling down just behind it.
It was that day that the first chapter of Ragnarök had been written.
***
When word came of the Descent Incident – where a pilot and her three miners had fallen into the star Carina after their launch malfunctioned – the colony bled grief. A long time before, the colonists believed that by burying their dead in the hole, that they could be forgotten. But they had gone to too many funerals in the past few years, to the point where their tears felt watered-down. And for every soul they fed to the tunnel, there was another empty mat in the Connections. The colony was once thick, but now it was dissolving, and there was nothing they could do about it. And so they drank their tears to that.
They say that grief is the true universal, that every culture sees that pain through the same eyes. But the truth is that sorrow is a fingerprint, and there are as many ways to experience it as there are people. Canto spent long hours alone in her room, shadowboxing until even she could not throw a punch. Dart became more terrified than ever, refusing to leave his room, afraid of meeting death like his brother miners had. Pilot Blue found herself waking up in other people’s beds, more so than ever. The bootlegger Volver was making more whiskey than usual – although it was less out of grief than out of meeting the uptick in demand. And the monstrous Bends laughed his self to sleep every night, because the colony’s pain meant business for him.
For the miner Coil, the pain was needles, to the point where he couldn’t even slip into sleep. It had been a few weeks after the Descent Incident, and the nights were as long as the days for Coil. He had been friends with all of the fallen miners, especially Friar. Coil was always trembling with anxiety, and he found medicine in Friar’s laughter, soothing like rain against the window. But those memories were now poisoned – now, whenever Coil thought of his friend, he only thought of sadness.
And that was how the wise Rego found Friar one night. Rego had woken up, feeling the urge to use the bathroom. It was a habit that had become more commonplace as he had gotten older – but instead of being annoyed by it, Rego accepted it as he was supposed to. Rego softly opened the front door of his apartment, careful not to wake up the sleeping longhouse. As he walked down the hallway towards the bathroom, he saw that the commons was lit. Curious as to who would be up at that hour, Rego peeked around the corner. That was where he saw Coil, sitting in one of the chairs, staring at the wall ahead.
“Brutus,” Rego whispered, careful not to startle him. Still, Coil jumped in his chair and almost squeaked in surprise. But when he saw that it was Rego, Coil calmed himself down, putting his head in his hands.
“Sorry,” Rego mumbled, taking a chair next to Coil. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.”
“What are you doing?”
“Not much – just trying to get to know the wall a little better,” Coil said, laughing weakly. But Rego deserved a serious answer, and so Coil gave him one. “I can’t sleep – again.”
“I thought you went to the doctor. Didn’t he give you anything?”
Coil snorted. “Bends? Yeah, he prescribed me something, but there’s always a price when you make a deal with a devil like him. The sleeping pills he gave me the other week worked. I slept well, and I didn’t have any nightmares that woke me up. But when I went back to Bends for more, he said that he was out. Apparently, a lot of people have been going to him lately because they’ve had trouble sleeping too, and he prescribed them the same medication. He knew he was running low on the pills, but he prescribed them just the same. So now we have to wait until the next shipment comes, and who knows when that will be.”
Rego shook his head. “Just because he’s a bad doctor, that doesn’t mean you have to suffer for it.”
Coil threw his hands up in despair. “But what other choice do I have? He’s the only doctor in the whole colony. There’s nowhere else to go.”
“Trust me – there’s always a second opinion out there.”
“Like who?” Coil asked. He wasn’t sure if the tone in his voice was sarcasm or desperation.
“You should try Dr. Chaser,” Rego offered.
“Who, the therapist?”
Rego nodded. “There’s a reason why her clinic is packed every night. She may have just come in with the last shipment, but she really understands us, much more than the people back on Earth ever could.”
“And how, exactly, is a therapist supposed to help me sleep?” For once, Coil was skeptical of a piece of advice from Rego.
“Well, when you meet her – and you will, I guarantee it – you probably shouldn’t call her a therapist. She’s one of those nightingales. I didn’t hear about the nightingales until she came, but apparently they’re all the rage with the rich folk back home. If she doesn’t help you calm down, nothing will.”
“Okay – so what if I go? You said so yourself that her clinic’s always packed. It sounds like something I’ll have to wait a month for.”
“Usually, yes – but, out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll lend you my reservation. I had an appointment scheduled tomorrow night, but I think you need it more than I do.”
“Are you sure?” Coil asked.
“Of course I am. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”
Coil sighed. “I guess I’ll take you up on that offer then.”
As Rego stood up, his legs creaking at the hinges, he said, “Well, I think you should at least try to get some sleep tonight, anyways.”
“I don’t think I can.”
Rego cocked his head. “So, you’re just going to sit here for the rest of the night, looking at the wall?”
“I guess I am,” Coil said.
Rego shrugged and sat back down. Before Coil had a chance to say anything, Rego said, “Let’s see what’s s
o interesting about this damn wall.”
“You don’t have to keep me company.”
Rego smiled. “I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t.”
And so Rego sat with his friend, completely forgetting the reason why he had gotten out of bed and left his apartment earlier.
***
It wasn’t long after the colony had been established that it had suffered its first case of insomnia. The sleepless nights were contagious, and in just a few years, most of the colonists were rolling around in their beds, drenched in sweat as they tried to push their selves into sleep.
The long nights were fueled not just by the stress of being so far from home, but also where the colony had been planted. Living underground in a sea of artificial lighting had effects that the charter had not considered. The body needs to be outside, to feel the light warmth of the sun, in order to appreciate the heavy darkness of sleep. The sunlight is the metronome to that circadian rhythm, something that no amount of light bulbs could ever replace. And so the colonists lost their sense of sleep. It was a problem the colonies scattered elsewhere in the galaxy had experienced, but not to the extent that the underground colony of Volans had.
Still, it took years for the charter to admit that they had a problem on their hands. And they realized that they needed to do something, not because the colonists were sad, but because they were being unproductive. And so they hired one of the best nightingales that they had, Dr. Ava Chaser, to sing the colony to sleep. Her only demand was that her clinic at the colony be built to the same specifications as her building back on Earth.
And that was why, as Coil stood in front of the clinic, he thought he could see a bit of Earth in its looks. It was a rounded building, no more than two stories tall, with a courtyard at its center that was bursting with green. Coil knew all of this because the entire first floor was nothing but mirrors. Coil watched, fascinated, as people walked about the ground level, sitting down on fat couches, laughing their way through stories. While the entire second floor was cloaked with walls of glass, the glass was cloudy and he couldn’t see through. However, he thought he saw a pale blue peek through the smoky glass, which he thought was odd – almost all of the lighting in the colony was amber, chosen by the charter.
