The Clouded Sky

by Megan Crewe

  “Bed,” Isis says, as if I couldn’t figure that out. “Desk.” She pushes a spot on the wall opposite the bunks and a thin slice of the surface peels away to jut out at a perpendicular angle. “Computer.” She waves her hand in front of the wall on the other side of the door, and a rectangular pattern of light blinks on.

  “We can set it to display in English for you,” Win offers.

  “Of course.” Isis ducks into the cramped room. Win leans against the doorway, covering a cough, as I sink onto the lower bunk.

  It can’t have been more than an hour since he met me outside school and asked if I’d carry on this mission with him—I doubt it’s even five o’clock in the afternoon by my time—but I’m suddenly exhausted. Nothing, not the walls or the floors or the beds or the desk, is quite like the ones I’m used to. And they all have that faint edge of extra thereness, that I can feel even more as I rest my palms on the dense bunk padding. The difference I can sense between how solid all this Kemyate equipment is compared to my Earthling body with its atoms decayed by thousands of years of shifts.

  “There you go,” Isis says, stepping back from the computer. “Is there anything else you need? I’m not sure what you’re used to.” She looks suddenly concerned, as if she’s brought home a puppy and realized she’s not sure she has the right food.

  “I’m good,” I say.

  “I can show you some programs you might find useful,” Win says. “Or—”

  “I think I’d like to take this in on my own for a bit,” I interrupt.

  “Oh,” he says, looking taken aback. “All right.”

  My uneasiness is making me rude. It’s because of Win I’m getting this chance at all. Because he was brave enough to take a chance on me, when just talking to me went against every rule he’d been taught.

  I scoot forward on the bunk so I can grasp his hand. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just a lot all at once.”

  His expression softens. “No, I should have realized. If you want me— Anything you need, just ask. My cabin’s three doors down. Convenient, right?” He smiles at the allusion to our shared knowledge of the way I’ve multiplied by threes to help my mind cope with the shifts. For an instant, holding his gaze, I don’t want him to go anywhere.

  “Come on, Win,” Isis says. “We have to take care of the Traveler equipment.”

  He squeezes my hand and lets go. “I’ll come by later so we can get dinner?”

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  He bobs his head and slips into the hall with Isis. The door closes automatically, and I’m alone. I look at the smooth panel, suddenly picturing the front door of my house. I have the urge to make some sort of gesture, the way I used to click that lock open and shut three times to reassure myself everything was safe and secure. My hand’s already lifted before I catch myself. I was trying to keep myself safe and secure from the wrong feelings, and those aren’t here. Fidgeting with this door isn’t going to change anything. My little symbols of protection seem empty now that I know what the wrongness is, and that it was completely outside my control.

  I lie down, testing the bunk. A small slant rises up to meet my head in place of a pillow. There’s no blanket around, but a hum arcs over my body, forming a layer of warmth against my skin as if the air has been shaped into an invisible duvet.

  It should be soothing, but instead it’s just one more alien intrusion. I sit back up, reaching for my backpack. I didn’t bring much—Win said it’d be easier for me to blend in wearing Kemyate clothes, carrying Kemyate tech. But I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving without a few reminders of home. My MP3 player. My tattered copy of Flowers for Algernon, which I expect to hold up to a few more rereadings. And two photographs: the most recent one I could find with Angela, Lisa, Evan, and me all together—an extra copy of the one a yearbook staffer took of us kicking our legs while perched on the railing by the school’s back door—and one of me with my parents, the last time we went on a family hike in the state park just outside the city.

  I snap bits of sticky tack from the packet I brought and fix the photos to the wall between the bunks. My friends and family beam back at me, and the tension inside me starts to release. This gesture feels meaningful. It’s funny to think no matter how long I’ll be out here, the way Win can hop through time, I’ll be back before they know I’ve left.

  I’m here for them, facing all these unknowns for them. And for me. So that I can come back knowing that no scientist from beyond the stars will ever make another change to our history, ever rewrite another life out of existence.

  As long as I hold on to that, I can handle anything.

  2.

  My first night on the ship, I find myself back at the cave in Vietnam in my dreams, watching Kurra, one of the Enforcers who were hunting down Win and me, shoot a young boy who’d seen her and her alien tech. But instead of whirling away with Win after my glimpse of the blackened mess of his face, I’m alone. Kurra turns toward me, smirking. “Standard protocol,” she says, pressing the tip of her blaster to my temple.

  A chiming sound shatters the vision. I jerk awake on my cabin’s bunk, my clothes sweat-damp against my skin. A name glows on the computer display: “Darwin Nikola-Audrey Pirios.” The cabin still feels so alien, it takes a moment for me to get a grip on myself. I close my eyes as I recite the first few powers of three: Three times three is nine. Three times nine is twenty-seven. Three times twenty-seven . . . Then, shaking the fragments of the nightmare away, I get up and tap the door.

  Win’s standing outside. Concern crinkles the corners of his eyes when he sees me.

  “Were you sleeping?” he says. “Sorry. We end up on some odd schedules in flight, and our normal day is almost a full Earth hour longer than you’re used to.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. I don’t regret being yanked away from my subconsciousness’s version of Kurra. “What’s up?”

  “Thlo’s called a general meeting. She wants you there.”

  Right. To discuss the “logistics” of my stay. I glance down at myself, my sleep-wrinkled outfit. I can already imagine Thlo’s penetrating gaze finding me wanting.

  Win seems to pick up on my discomfort. “Take a moment to change if you want. They can wait that long.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I guess we both know what it’s like trying to make a good impression when you’re at a disadvantage. Though I doubt his family’s overenthusiasm for Earth culture puts him on as low a level as an actual Earthling.

  I close the door, turning to the two sets of thin, seamless shirts and pants Win brought by for me at dinnertime yesterday. The fabric stretches as I pull the blue set on, and then smooths against my skin as if it’s been tailored for me. Now I have that extra tingle of thereness all over my body, reminding me why I hesitated to change last night. I take a slow breath, and reach for the door again.

  “Ready?” Win says.

  “As I’m going to be,” I say.

  In the cafeteria, all of the others except Emmer are sitting around the table, the discussion underway. Thlo presides at the head, flicking back her sleek salt-and-pepper hair as she acknowledges Win and me. Britta—pilot, I remind myself, and my soon-to-be roommate—grins and jerks her elbow toward the stools at her right. Pavel—information gathering—is slouched over the table, talking in Kemyate with Isis—tech, my other roommate-to-be. Mako—resources—jumps into the conversation without a glance our way. And Jule—jerk, possibly not much else—is lounging on his stool watching all this as if it’s mild entertainment.

  Win frowns. When there’s a momentary break in the conversation, he makes a comment in Kemyate. Pavel pulls a face even more dour than his usual and makes a sharp retort. Thlo interrupts, sweeping Win into the flow of conversation. I wonder if he asked them to speak in English, the way he insisted when Jule caught up with us on Earth. If so, the request obviously didn’t go over well.

  It’s Isis who finally breaks the pattern, shooting a smile our way. “Thanks to Win and Skylar, there’s only one pa
rt of Jeanant’s weapon that’ll be difficult to replicate. To properly power the main beam, we’ll need to get our hands on some . . .” She says a word that sounds like kolzo. “What are our options, Mako?”

  The older woman tilts her head, her lanky frame stiffening as her gaze flicks over me. She replies in Kemyate. Isis’s mouth twitches, but she falls back into her native tongue as well.

  Win leans closer, an apology in his tone. “Mako figures out where we can safely skim the supplies we need, and where to store them after we have. Kolzo can only be gathered in small quantities, so she’s saying it may take some time before we have enough. Isis is questioning how we can reduce that time, since we’ll want to move quickly now that we’ve extended the mission this far.”

  I wish I didn’t have to depend on him to explain. I’m about to ask exactly how much we need to do to finish the mission when Thlo wraps up the kolzo discussion with a measured remark and turns her attention to me.

  “Skylar,” she says, “you’ve already been informed that Isis and Britta will be hosting you?”

  I nod. “And I’ll help out however I can. Just let me know what you need me to do.”

  “Your involvement will be somewhat limited by the need for secrecy,” she says, folding her lean hands on the table in front of her. “I’m sure, having seen our Enforcers in action, you appreciate the necessity of caution.”

  A chill tickles over my skin. “Will Kurra be back on the station too?”

  “She and her colleagues rotate their shifts off-station,” Thlo says. “Even if she remains Earth-side for the time being, she’ll have sent back reports.”

  “Our Security division respects privacy more than some of your governments do, but they monitor all public areas,” Mako puts in. “You can’t expect to move freely.”

  “Yes,” Thlo continues. “So to keep you undetected you’ll be restricted to the apartment. You may very well be safer there, where we can protect you, than if we’d left you on Earth where an accidental slip could have brought the Enforcers to you without warning.”

  Having seen how quickly the Enforcers could appear, over something as small as a stain caught via a news recording, I know she has a point. “If that’s the way it has to be . . .” I say. But I’m not the only one Kurra and her squad were chasing. I glance at Win with a flicker of concern. “Do you think they could identify you?”

  “I made sure none of them got a clear look at my face,” he says. “Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll take a peek at their records to confirm that when we’re close enough to Kemya,” Britta says with a nudge I think is intended to be reassuring. “And you’ll still be able to pitch in.”

  “Yes,” Thlo says. “The project I’d like you to start with you can handle independently, Skylar. You’re the last person here to have any contact with Jeanant in . . . quite some time. That means a lot to us.”

  Of course it does. They’ve been following his mission for years, making the preparations for this illicit trip to Earth without any word from him since the final message he recorded before he left. The assurance that hummed off him in what little time I spent in his presence, it’s carried them this far. And now several gazes are trained on me, lit with expectation.

  “I could, I guess, write up everything I remember,” I say. “Or—”

  Thlo’s shaking her head with a small smile. “Our tech can allow a more comprehensive re-creation than that. You’ll be able to let us see and hear what you did, to the extent that your memories permit. It’s my hope that he shared information you may not realize the relevance of that will help us in this final stage. At the very least, hearing his thoughts will be an inspiration to us. Pavel will come by and show you how to use the re-creation device later today.”

  Jule interjects with something that sounds partway between a question and a complaint. Win protests, but before he’s gotten more than a few words out, Thlo raises her palm dismissively. Jule gives Win a haughty look, Win’s shoulders go rigid, and Pavel and Mako spin off into a brisk conversation that may or may not be about me too. I curl my fingers around the base of my stool, a jitter running through my nerves. Maybe I’d rather be off doing independent projects.

  Thlo draws everyone back to order and gives what sound like final instructions. As the others stand, she beckons me over. Win pauses by the door.

  “Did you want to question your assignment?” Thlo asks.

  Win’s mouth twists. He must decide it’s not worth an argument, because he ducks his head and goes out with the others.

  “You wanted to talk to me about something else?” I say, fighting the urge to fidget.

  “I did,” she says. “Just a small thing. From what Win’s told me, you’re especially sensitive to your surroundings—you have an innate attention to detail? Would you agree?”

  “I think so.” Twelve years ago, when my brother Noam disappeared, I blamed myself for not noticing the signs that he meant to leave and resolved to keep watch for anything else that could go wrong. That obsessive attention to detail is what started me sensing—and panicking over—the shifts in time most Earthlings never notice. I have no idea how I measure against the average Kemyate, though.

  “Good,” Thlo says. “I’d like you to continue the same level of attention while you’re with us. Take note if anything strikes you as unusual about any member of this group. And report to me if it does.”

  “Anything unusual . . .”

  “You don’t need to understand why it strikes you, only that it does. I’ll worry about the rest.” She taps my shoulder in a way I think is meant to be reassuring. “Everyone puts on a good face for their leader, but it’s important for me to know if one of my people is becoming stressed or overworked.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Got it.” I’m not sure if I would recognize signs of overwork in these relative strangers, and the thought of reporting their reactions to Thlo behind their backs makes me itchy. But if this is how Thlo thinks I can be most useful, who am I to argue?

  “I’ll do my best,” I add.

  “I trust you will,” Thlo says. “We appreciate your efforts.”

  It’s a clear dismissal.

  I assume I’m meant to wait in my cabin for Pavel to appear, but it’s Win who comes by first.

  “Sorry,” he says as soon as I answer the door. “I would have waited for you, but—well—” He sighs. “What did Thlo want to talk to you about?”

  She probably wouldn’t want me to tell even him about her second request. My gut twinges as I lie. “She just explained more about the Jeanant thing.”

  “Ah. All right. You’re good for now, then?” He gives me a slanted smile, pulling back. “I can get away for a bit, but I think they’ve all decided I ‘took initiative’ out of boredom. Between Thlo, Pavel, and Mako I’ve got quite the list of duties.”

  It occurs to me there is one thing I’d like to find out sooner rather than later, if I’m going to stay presentable. “I, uh, did want to ask . . .”

  He stops. “Yes?”

  “In the bathrooms, there’s a sort of stall, like a shower . . . but I couldn’t find a way to turn on the water . . .”

  “There isn’t water, actually. Let me show you.”

  I follow him to the end of the hall where the two bathrooms are, wondering exactly how weird this is. If I look at it as an alien explaining the practicalities of his ship to a newcomer, not really? On the other hand, if I look at it as a not-exactly-uncute guy who has kissed me once before, demonstrating an activity done while naked . . .

  Let’s stick to the former.

  We step into the compact room with its sliding doors on either side, one leading to a sort-of toilet that’s so self-explanatory thankfully I don’t have to ask him about that. Win motions open the other. He points to a circular indentation in the wall. “You just trace your finger around that clockwise to turn it on and adjust the intensity, and counter-clockwise when you’re done. The ‘shower’ is created by a sort of l
ight. You have to give it a few minutes to work, but it’s quite efficient. It’ll clean your clothes too. Although you do have to separate the processes, by taking the clothes off first . . .”

  He trails off as he glances over at me, and I think I catch a flush rising under his gold-brown skin. “Thanks,” I say quickly, my own cheeks warming.

  “Not a problem,” he replies. “Ah, if there’s anything else you need help with . . .”

  “No, I think I’ve got it.”

  “The way the ‘shower’ works, it’s related to the medic chair—the one I had to use in the safe house?” Win says as we head back to my cabin.

  “I remember,” I say. It’d be hard to forget stumbling down those steps behind him, seeing the blood spreading across his side around a chunk of glass split by an Enforcer’s blaster, before he sank into the chair and let its strange glow heal the wound. The wound he got because he’d been waiting for me, unwilling to risk Kurra catching me instead.

  I miss that, I realize. Not the bleeding part. But the two of us together, doing what we could. It was scary and exhausting, but also easier, somehow. We found a rhythm, knew how much we could count on each other, without anyone handing out orders, or . . .

  My thoughts dart back to the meeting. “After Thlo talked about having me do the re-creation,” I say, “what was it Jule said?”

  Win grimaces. “Don’t worry about him. Thlo okayed you coming, and he listens to her as much as everyone else does.”

  “But he doesn’t like it?”

  “Who knows? He complained because it was my idea. He’d find some reason to argue if I suggested stars emit light.”

  I smile. But it’s still uncomfortable knowing Jule, or any of the others, could be criticizing me without my knowing.

  “Do you think I could try to learn your language?” I ask as we reach my cabin door. “I know you have lots to do, and I’ll be working on that re-creation project soon, but I bet I’d be a lot more useful if I knew at least the basics.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Win says. “You don’t need me. The language learning program is customizable—I’m sure I can set it to teach Kemyate.”