by Laura Lam
Finally, their true ship came into view on the cameras: the Atalanta. Valerie smiled. Hixon allowed herself a triumphant clap, muffled by her gloves. Naomi, Hart, and Lebedeva stayed silent and awed.
It was a beautiful craft, all smooth and white metal. A sleek, bird-like body formed the ship’s central axis, the bow showing the disk of the bridge, quadruple-reinforced windows dark, and the ion and plasma thrusters strapped to the side.
Jutting up from the ship were three spokes that led to the large, round ring—the labs, quarters, and communal spaces—that circled the ship like a halo. If they managed to pull this off and leave Earth’s orbit, the ring would turn, generating gravity. The ring perfectly matched the one built just outside Mars’ orbit and provided a set location via atomic clocks. When they’d figured out how to harvest exotic matter to create negative energy, it meant the Alcubierre theory for warp drive was no longer the realm of science fiction. A spaceship could contract space in front of it and expand behind, travelling faster than the speed of light without breaking the laws of physics.
Though they had sent various probes through the rings and back again, Earth’s sundry countries were too afraid to build the warp ring directly in lower orbit or around the moon. It wasn’t essential for the warp drive, but it helped ensure the craft was in the proper location and their calculations were exact. The Atalanta would make its slower, sublight journey to Mars with the ion engines. Once it slotted neatly into the ring, they could go anywhere.
Their destination was ten and a half light years away.
Cavendish.
The Atalanta was still bolted to its construction hub. It was an ungainly host, filled with scrap and the latest model of drone robots originally designed by Naomi’s mother, not dissimilar to the ones that had just helped launch the shuttle. Last week, these ones had still been skittering along the shining hull, tightening every screw, bringing it to life. The Atalanta had been assembled far enough from the Lunar Orbital Platform Gateway and the International Space Station that the astronauts on board those vessels would not be able to easily stop the five women.
In two weeks, the new crew was meant to board the Atalanta to head out to Cavendish to determine whether or not it was a viable new home for humanity. Naomi had worked under the new proposed commander, Shane Legge, during her time at NASA. She’d also seen him outside of work more than she’d cared to—he’d been her ex-husband’s close friend. He was brilliant, but a terrible leader. One who deliberately made others feel inferior, who nursed resentments and stoked petty competition. Even if they all managed to keep the Atalanta going from a science point of view, they’d be at each other’s throats by Mars.
The capsule drifted closer to the Atalanta’s docking port. Valerie knew this ship—Lockwood’s veneer over the security systems couldn’t keep her out. NASA and Lockwood hadn’t thought to stop access from orbit, had never anticipated Valerie would be able to take off from the surface without their knowledge. Earth couldn’t stop them, not without huge costs. Even if they tried to interfere with the warp ring at Mars, Valerie could turn off the Hawthorne robots on the surface remotely. Worst-case scenario, they could still use the Alcubierre drive in another location, though it would require a lot of extra calculations on Hixon’s part. And a lot more risk.
The crew held their breath as their craft slid into place. The probe connected, drawing the two vehicles together. A hiss as the seals tightened. Naomi exhaled.
Valerie gave them all a wordless signal and the astronauts unbuckled their seat belts, floating up in the capsule. Naomi moved her weightless arms in wonder.
Lebedeva twisted the latch on the craft, hauling the steel door open. The astronauts glided into the ship. Their ship. Naomi still felt cramped—the airlock wasn’t much bigger than the capsule. All was pitch-dark until the motion detection lights flickered on, too bright after the dimness.
They’d connected to the main body of the ship, the centre holding the loading bay to the back, the bridge to the front, and excess storage along the right side of the connecting hallway.
As they moved into the corridor, Naomi drank in every detail. She had seen this spaceship countless times on the simulators, either on two-dimensional screens or through virtual reality that was almost like the real thing. Almost.
“All clear?” Valerie asked, her voice tinny through the speakers around Naomi’s ears.
Hixon gave a thumbs up.
Valerie’s hands rose, twisting off her helmet. Curly brown hair that normally fell to her chin haloed her face. Her normally stern features opened with a wide, toothy grin.
Naomi followed suit, her helmet hissing. She breathed in sterile, scentless air. She was here, her body untethered by gravity. The closest she’d come was either underwater in the Neutral Buoyancy Lab during NASA training or brief thirty-second bursts at the tip of parabolic flights on zero-G planes. She took off a glove. Touched the cool white wall of the hallway. Solid. This was not a recreation. This was reality.
The others took off their helmets. These were the women Naomi would see every day for the foreseeable future. Soon their features would be as familiar as her own.
Valerie pushed off the wall of the corridor, making her way to the bridge. The others followed, silent as ghosts. It was a small ship, all things considered, just large enough to comfortably fit up to seven crew and all the supplies they’d need to make it to Mars, the ring, and Cavendish. Naomi wanted to swim through the air and explore every corner of the vessel. It was novel, but soon it would hold no secrets.
In the bridge, they paused, hovering above the seats and the consoles.
“Well, goddamn,” Valerie breathed.
Below them lay Earth.
It didn’t look like a marble; it was too clearly alive. The clouds crawled slowly, the planet bisected by the line of day and night. On the night side, the lights of cities glimmered. There was Europe, a gleam of brightness over Paris, Berlin, Kiev, strung together by smaller cities like linked synapses. Southern Europe was largely dark in summer as people who could fled north to places like Finland or Estonia. Lightning flashed over Morocco. Far to the north was the green glow of the aurora borealis. Charged particles from solar wind burning up in the atmosphere. It was Naomi’s first time seeing the Northern Lights. She’d seen the Southern Lights, and thought them beautiful on the expedition to Antarctica during her undergraduate degree, smothered in a parka as she gazed out at the horizon. From up here, it looked like magic.
The day side illuminated what the night could not—there was no ice in the Arctic Sea. The Antarctic wasn’t visible from here—this time of year was constant darkness for the southern pole. In summer, it’d show expanses of black land dotted by large, turquoise lakes, some the size of small European countries, the glaciers melting. She wondered if the lights from the oil rigs recently put up in the Ross Sea would be visible from space. The Antarctic treaties had been broken long before they were meant to run out in 2048.
The land on the other continents was too brown and golden, the green too sparse. There were swathes of land where humans could no longer survive, and the habitable areas were growing crowded. There was even some gold-green in the oceans from dust storms blowing off the continents and fertilising phytoplankton blooms. They’d managed to fish out most of the Great Pacific garbage patch, at least, though even if they hadn’t, it might not have been visible from orbit.
Earth was such a little, vulnerable thing in the grand scope of the universe.
Down on the surface, those mountains were larger than life, but from the ship they were only a ripple. The world she’d known was nothing but a suspended, lonely rock. It’d keep itself alive, in the end, but that didn’t mean large animal life would do the same. Humans were finally confronted with their fragility. Within a generation, they could all be gone. They’d outgrown this world, drained it dry. They needed a new one.
The women held their helmets, gathering around the window. The exhilaration and adrenaline of launch
was fading, everyone sobering as what they had just done set in. They knew what they risked, yet that was different from being confronted, so baldly, with what they stood to lose. With what they were so desperate to save, they’d steal a ship.
“We spent so long thinking about getting off the planet, it’s easy to forget this is only the beginning,” Hart whispered, the blue light making her brown skin glow.
How well did Naomi know these women? She’d trained and worked with them, but they were also the only humans she’d interact with for years. Valerie’s chosen aegis.
Tears clung to Hixon’s face, clustering by her nose in a bubble. Hart reached out, wiping them away. Naomi drifted closer, pressing her hands against the window. To her right, Lebedeva was inscrutable as always, her cheekbones standing out in stark relief against her white skin. Both of them had shaved off their hair when they were in quarantine. Hart had taken out her braids and cut her hair short months ago, and Hixon had a pixie cut since she was twelve. The Russian had buzzed her own blond hair into a bristle before snipping Naomi’s dark locks. Naomi had watched them fall to the ground, realising she wouldn’t be able to take gravity for granted much longer.
Valerie gave a whisper of a sigh before hardening. “Hixon.”
The pilot nodded, coming to attention, her military background embedded deep. She pulled herself down to the console and started the sequence to disengage the Atalanta from the construction hub.
An error message blared, harsh and jarring in the quiet. A red flash against the blue-white.
Hixon tried again. Another burst of red.
“They’ve locked the ship to the hub from the ground. That’s a recent spec change.” Valerie pointed to the world with her chin. “Oh, they’re so spitting mad. I love it.”
As if her voice conjured it, a different beep sounded—an incoming message from Houston.
“Do we answer?” Hart asked, chewing at the edge of a fingernail.
“Of course not,” Valerie said. “Lebedeva. Lovelace. Dig out the EMUs.”
Naomi worked through her words. “You can’t mean—”
“Manual override. Worked it into the design. Figured they’d pull this kind of shit. They’re going to send up a Dragon or send people from the Gateway to come arrest us. You want to be here when they do? Now’s your chance to speak up.”
Silence save for the insistent beep from the men trapped on the crust of the Earth.
“Suit up,” Valerie said, giving them another wide, white smile. “Spacewalk.”
CHAPTER TWO
3 Years Before Launch
Sutherland, Scotland
Valerie appeared out of the mist like a spectre.
Naomi recognised her former guardian as soon as she left the doors of the Sutherland Spaceport, tucking her employee badge back into her purse. There was no mistaking the tilt of those shoulders, the confidence emanating off the silhouette in waves.
Naomi halted by her car, waiting, hands deep in her pockets. Valerie wore a floor-length, dark green coat, a large umbrella shielding her from the worst of the Scottish wind and rain. Only tourists used them. Those who lived in Scotland long enough simply acknowledged that any umbrella was bound to be blown inside out, and it was better to resign yourself to getting a little wet.
“Valerie.” Naomi didn’t reach out for a hug. Valerie Black didn’t do hugs.
“Hello, Naomi,” Valerie said, as if she’d run into Naomi by chance around the corner from her mansion in the Santa Ana mountains rather than flown five thousand miles and travelled up to the remote north of Scotland. As if the last time they’d seen each other in person hadn’t resulted in a fight that meant they hadn’t spoken in a year. “Happy birthday. I thought I’d treat you to dinner.”
Valerie stood before her, but so many other versions of her floated in Naomi’s memory, like overexposed photos. The first birthday after she’d come to live with Valerie, a silent nine year old with smoke-scorched lungs who saw soot drifting down like snow every time she closed her eyes. There had been no candles on the cake. Her twelfth birthday at a theme park, Valerie buying the most expensive ticket so they never had to stand in line. Valerie had waited for Naomi at the exit of each ride, saying she saved her thrills for things that were more dangerous. Valerie had always loved birthdays and Christmases. A chance to watch others light up with joy and then grow bashful at her extravagance no one else could meet.
Naomi glanced behind her at the glass dome of the spaceport, still skirted with scaffolding. Naomi worked for Lockwood on a contract for the UK Space Agency. People already whispered at her being raised by the CEO of their prime competitor. If they saw Valerie here…
Valerie opened the door to Naomi’s car, as if reading her thoughts. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of the rain.”
Naomi settled inside, pulling the door shut.
The ESA and the UKSA were slowly following in NASA’s footsteps in terms of restricting women’s presence in the workforce. Until they caught up, Naomi still had a chance at going to space on this side of the pond.
They were silent as the self-driving car cut through the mist, the grey shifting to violet in the growing dusk. Naomi remembered how cold Valerie had been, when she told her mentor she was leaving NASA, moving somewhere so much further from Houston and her problems there. The barest trace of that ice remained frozen into the lines of Valerie’s profile, lit up in the soft purple of the gloaming. She caught Naomi’s eye, gave a flicker of a smile.
“Your mind is whirring away, I can almost hear it,” Valerie said.
“We can do the small talk if you want. Or should I wait until you get settled and you decide to tell me why you’re really here?”
Valerie laughed, exposing the column of her throat. “Fair enough, my girl. Fair enough.”
They twined through the winding Highland roads. When the car pulled into the village of Tongue, darkness lay thick on the stone buildings.
Having largely grown up in America, even though her father had been Scottish, Naomi was always struck by the sense of time and history in these old crofting villages and towns. Picts, Gaels, and Vikings had passed through Tongue over the centuries, and generations of farmers had lived in the same cottages as their ancestors. This section of Scotland was, so far, less ravaged by the rising temperatures, though it wasn’t unscathed.
Valerie chose one of the two hotel pubs, Naomi trailing behind. The conversation stalled when they walked in. With their nice coats and fine shoes, everyone assumed they were from the SSP. Valerie had taken them both into the heart of the local community, many of whom had protested the construction of the spaceport. Some because the rockets would be launching several hundred metres from the borders of their land, startling the sheep. Others because the peat bog of the A’Mhoine peninsula was meant to be a wildlife sanctuary for Highland birds. That delayed things for a few years, until the wild bird population dipped so precariously it didn’t matter any longer.
Naomi had researched the birds when she first arrived here, rolling the names along her tongue. In winter there should have been cormorants, little grebes, redshanks. Summer should have sandpipers, black-headed gulls, skylarks, and meadow pipit. There should have been birds of prey, like peregrines, merlins, and golden eagles. On weekends when she’d first arrived, she’d stomped through the squelching bogs in her best wellies, oversized binoculars around her neck, trying in vain to find them. She’d spend the whole day outside and return, cold and soaking, perhaps having spotted one or two scrawny birds all day. The occasional roar of engines couldn’t drown out the absence of the bird calls.
Naomi blinked, back in the warm interior of the pub. Valerie strode through the tables as if she didn’t have a care, their occupants’ wariness rolling off her like water off an otter’s back. She chose a table near the central hearth. All smelled of woodsmoke, stale beer, stewing meat, and the dust from past memories. Stag heads with cobwebs between their antlers lined the walls, glass eyes blank. Framed black-and-whi
te photos hung under them, showing the village looking much the same. It was such a contrast to the sterile smoothness of the spaceport, or the employee apartments five kilometres from her work that still smelled of new paint and plasterboard.
“All right, out with it,” Naomi said after they’d settled and the bartender had brought them two glasses of whisky—top shelf, Valerie’s treat. “It’s nice to see you, but it’s not exactly round the corner. I was expecting a card in the mail.”
“Oh, yes!” Valerie plucked a white envelope from her purse and passed it over. Naomi felt the stiffness of the card inside. She didn’t open it.
Valerie took a sip from her bell-shaped glass before setting it down. She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, spread out, taking up room.
“If you could do anything just now, anything—what would it be?” Valerie had that intensity about her that had never failed to draw Naomi in.
“You know what it’d be. Get up there.” A glance at the window. The moon, the stars.
Valerie tilted her head, lips quirking at the corners. “I have a job for you that might help with that.”
Naomi took a taste of her own whisky. She felt that flicker of excitement, deep in her chest, tingling at her fingertips.
“I already have a job.” Naomi strove for lightness. If Valerie realised someone was too keen, she couldn’t help but tease whatever it was out, dangle it like a cat toy until the other person cracked.
“Not the one you really want. Come on, open your card.”
The smell of the smoke in the grate was distracting Naomi, sticking in her throat. She needed to stay sharp. Naomi’s mouth went dry. She drank more whisky to wet it, but it tasted of fire, too. She wished for water instead.
Naomi tore open the white envelope. Slid out a card with a cartoony illustration of the Earth on the front, curling white clouds, the sea an even blue. She looked closer. No. Instead of larger continents, the world had smaller islands.
