by RF Hurteau
"The terminal was destroyed. But I think I can open the vent manually."
Felix's gaze darted to Tobias, who was fidgeting nervously and didn't make eye contact. "And you think this will work?" he asked.
Tobias grimaced, and nodded. "It will work,” he answered flatly.
"So then why do you both look like someone just died?" Felix demanded, sitting up taller and glaring at Ripley. "What are you not telling me?"
Ripley closed his eyes. "When I say manually, I mean manually. I need to stand on top of the dome and pull the vent open by hand."
Felix had started shaking his head before Ripley even finished speaking. "No. Nope. Find another way. This is insane." He turned to Tobias. "You told him this is insane, right? There's got to be another way."
"There's no other way, and we're out of time. If I don't do this, everyone in Sanctuary will die."
“Ambrose can blast it with the guns. Tear it open, that’ll vent it.”
‘If I do that,” Ambrose said, quietly, “the system won’t be able to re-pressurize. Most of the people here would die before repairs could be completed. Assuming they could fix it at all.”
"Why should I care?" Felix said, defiantly. "Why should I care if the likes of Denton and Percy freeze to death? Let them die. We can leave this place, Ripley. We're going somewhere better."
Ripley gave a sad smile. "You don't really mean that. I'm not just saving Denton and Percy. What about James? What about the other Halfsies? Your father?" He glanced down at Willow's stomach. "What about all of the children?"
Felix was grasping now. Ripley watched the struggle behind his friend’s eyes. He got up, began rummaging around the small hold, throwing supplies and tools to the floor. “We can tie a rope to it. Pull it with the ship. Damn it, Ambrose!” he cried. “Why don’t you have any rope back here? We’ve got to turn around.”
Ripley looked around, shaking his head. There’s no time to go back, even if we knew we could find something. Maybe it could have worked, I don’t know. There’s simply…not enough time.”
Felix sighed. "I'll do it, then," he said, his voice resigned. "I'm stronger than you are. I've got a better chance of getting it open."
"I can't let you do that."
"You don't get to decide!” Felix shouted at him. “Who put you in charge?”
Ripley's voice was quiet. He knew he was making the right choice. But he didn't want to have the last thing that ever passed between him and Felix to be anger. "You're going to be a father, Felix. Willow and your kids need you. That's why we started this crazy adventure. For them. You can't leave them now." He pointed at Ambrose. "That guy is the only one who can fly this tin can. And that guy," he pointed at Tobias, "has been helping him work on it for two months. If anything goes wrong, Ambrose is going to need his help. I'm the only one here that's expendable."
Felix looked away, hot, angry tears spilling down his cheeks. "You're not expendable to me," he whispered.
"We're at the top," shouted Ambrose. "I can't put her down on the Dome. And it's really windy out there. Not sure how long I can keep her steady."
They all stood. Willow wept openly, throwing her arms around him again, squeezing gently this time. "You've saved us all," she whispered. "You really did."
Ripley smiled. "Not just yet," he said. "One last thing to be done."
Ambrose couldn't leave the pilot's chair, but he had twisted around in it to look at Ripley, his face pained. "I'm so sorry."
Ripley shrugged. "You saved me from Lub. I would have died back there if you hadn't shot out the roof. I'm glad I got to see what the red button does, at least."
Ambrose gave a small chuckle. "It's been an honor," he said.
Tobias spoke up. "It should be me," he said, his voice quavering. "I can open it just as easily as you can—"
"Ambrose needs you, Tobias. You're his copilot now. It's a long journey. And I need you, too. I need you to make sure that you get these guys somewhere safe."
Tobias straightened up, his face hard. "You have my word."
Finally, Ripley turned to Felix. "Please say something," he pleaded.
Felix grabbed him so tightly that fire erupted from his wounds. Ripley didn't care. He returned his friend's embrace, struggling to keep tears at bay.
"We had a good run," said Felix.
"The best," agreed Ripley.
"Time to go," said Ambrose. "It's now or never."
Ripley broke away, taking one last look around. Then Tobias opened the hatch for him.
Nothing had prepared Ripley for the cold outside the dome. Tobias threw out a little rope ladder, which Ripley climbed down, stepping gingerly out onto the frosted surface of Dome Six. The wind whipped around him, but the surface was textured and the arc so gradual that it wasn't hard to keep his footing. He waved at his friends. "Shut the hatch!" he cried out, his voice snatched away by the wind. "Fly far and fast!" he shouted, louder this time. He saw Willow waving, and he saw Felix's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what his friend was saying. Felix made a move toward the open hatch, and Tobias grabbed his arm and shouted something at him.
Then the hatch closed, and they were gone.
Ripley walked unsteadily to the condensers. They poked out of the top of the dome like tree trunks from the earth, stretching up another twenty feet into the air. Ripley wasn’t sure how long he had. He might freeze to death in minutes, and he'd lost track of how long it had been since the Elves' plan had been set in motion. The whole place could go up at any moment. As if reading his thoughts, the condenser gave a low, rumbling groan as the pressure inside strained against the ancient metal. There was no time to waste. He came to a ladder on the side of one of the tubes. I'm going places, Nelson, he thought to himself. I'm moving up the ladder! He pulled his blanket up over his nose and began to climb.
He felt weak, but somehow warm. He guessed that his body was beginning to shut down from the subzero temperatures. His fingers were blue, and he had trouble pulling his feet up the ladder, because they felt like blocks of ice. "Come on," he told himself through gritted teeth. "Keep it together. Almost there!"
He reached a platform and scrambled onto it, peering down into the condenser tube. There it was. The vent was right there, about four feet down, a large, vertical lever beside it. Something on the horizon caught his eye. He looked up, and despite everything, Ripley began to laugh.
It was the sun. Peaking over the horizon and turning the deep blue of twilight into a swirl of pinks and purples.
He had finally gotten to see the sun.
Ripley thought about all the people inside Sanctuary as he pulled himself up and over the lip of the condenser. They were probably still enjoying the festivities. He wondered how long it would be before they noticed anything was amiss. Before they started to wonder where the Elves had gone. Maybe they'd figure it out—maybe they wouldn't. The important thing was, they would survive. They'd never know how close they'd come to death or the role he'd played in saving them.
History would not remember Ripley Prior. But Felix would. That was enough, he decided.
He watched the sun rise for another moment. Then he grasped the lever, closed his eyes,
and pulled.
Book Two
Through A Mirror, Darkly
The children ran along the shore,
The sea rose up to greet them.
"Take care, beware, don't linger there!"
Their elders did entreat them.
The sun shone down, the sand was warm,
Their words rang out, beguiling.
It seemed a dream, so right and clean,
What could the sea be hiding?
A step they took, into the surf
No fear found in their hearts.
So free, to be, upon the sea,
To never be apart.
Into the gentle froth they dove,
The sea rose up to greet them.
Too late, that's that, no turning back,
The sea rose up to eat t
hem.
~A Pravacordian Nursery Rhyme
one
Mr. Wilks
The cold did nothing to numb the pain.
Felix’s hand balled into a fist and he punched the hull, feeling it reverberate through his arm.
“We have to go back,” said Felix. “We never should have left him.”
Ambrose’s voice was pained. “If I turn this ship around, there’s no guarantee we’d ever get out of here.”
Willow reached up and took his fist in her hand, gently pulling it down to lay his fingers across her rounded belly.
“We have to go back,” he whispered to her plaintively.
“It’s too late, my love. He’s already gone.”
She slowly raised her finger, pointing out a window at the back of the ship. His gut wrenched as he saw Sanctuary in the distance; six domes arranged in a perfect circle. From the top of one of the domes there was a sudden eruption of steam, a giant pillar stretching into the clouds. He watched as it transformed into snow in the frigid air, drifting peacefully back toward the earth.
“Felix?” he heard Willow say behind him. “Ripley needs you.”
Felix ignored her, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight that was rapidly fading into the distance behind them.
“Ripley needs you, Felix,” Willow said again, more insistently this time.
Groggily, Felix opened his eyes. Willow stood before him, swaying gently in the moonlight as she rocked an infant in her arms. The babe was swaddled tightly in a muslin blanket, tiny pointed ears sticking out of a mop of short brown curls. In the next room, Felix heard the cries of his son. The sound was so small, so defenseless. Felix stood up from the bed and went to him, returning with the baby held tightly in his arms, a miniature thumb stuck in his tiny mouth. His shining eyes peered up at Felix, comforted by his father’s warmth. I will always keep you safe, Felix thought. I will never let anything bad happen to you.
When he looked up, Felix saw that Willow was studying him with a look of concern. “You were dreaming about him again, weren’t you?”
Felix sat on the edge of the bed and nodded. “Yeah.”
She offered him a sad smile. “He’d want you to remember him fondly,” she insisted softly. “He wouldn’t want you to torment yourself like this.”
“I know. You’re right. But I keep seeing it, anyway. I keep thinking, maybe—maybe there’s something we could have done. If we’d only had more time.”
“Hush, now,” cooed Willow. Felix wasn’t sure if she was addressing him or the babies. In his arms, the infant squirmed and gave a small chirruping sound. Felix held him out to his mother.
“Here,” he said, holding him out to Willow, “he’s hungry. Give Felicity to me.”
Willow shook her head. “She’s just fallen asleep. Let me put her down first, then I’ll take him.”
She disappeared into the next room, and he stood, moving to the window to peer out into the darkness. A warm breeze rustled the curtains, carrying with it an unfamiliar smell. Everything in Pravacordia was unfamiliar to Felix. Ambrose had said that, in time, this place would begin to feel like home. Even now, six months later, it still felt strange. Each day, Felix woke early, and went out, scouring the town for odd jobs. He did his best, but work was scarce. Ambrose said it was because this town had been going through hard times. Felix knew better.
He might be unfamiliar with the land, the smells, the architecture. He might be unfamiliar with the culture, the technology, even the food. But Felix was familiar with the stares he received when he’d walk down the street, and the fake smiles and empty platitudes he received from those he spoke to—he’d dealt with these things his entire life. Back then, it had been because he was a Halfsie, but nobody around here was familiar with Halfsies. Here, they just saw an Elf.
An Elf, like the ones that had once tried to wipe out Humanity.
Some people, like Ambrose, treated him and Willow kindly enough, but Felix feared for the kind of life his children would lead, being brought up in a place where people secretly feared and despised them. He had thought that, leaving Sanctuary, they could go anywhere and make a life for themselves.
He’d been wrong. There was no place they could go where they would feel like they belonged.
The baby in his arms began to cry in earnest now and Felix tried, somewhat clumsily, to mimic the motions that came so naturally to Willow. “It’s all right, Ripley,” he said softly. “I’ve got you. It’s all right.”
* * *
It seemed as though Felix had only just laid down and closed his eyes when he was awoken for a second time, this time by the sound of a crash from somewhere downstairs. “Confound it!” came Tobias’ frustrated cry. Felix turned to Willow, who still slept peacefully beside him, then sighed, stretched, and got up.
As he descended the stairs, he entered a small, cramped galley kitchen that Ambrose affectionately called his “other workshop.” Pots and pans hung from hooks on the low wooden ceiling and open shelves along the wall were packed full of a wide assortment of preserved food stuffs, chipped plates, mismatched bowls, glassware, tools, and gadgets. Tobias and Willow had both attempted to bring some order to the chaos, but they soon gave up. Felix had made no such attempts, as the cluttered atmosphere was the only thing around here that reminded him of home. Ambrose spent most days working on either his own ship or helping to fix someone else’s. He would come barreling into the kitchen to rummage around, pulling things off shelves and piling them on the counter until he found the misplaced tool or part he was looking for.
Tobias was sucking on his finger, glaring angrily at something smoking in a cast iron pan atop the wood-burning stove. Felix looked, finding a towel, which he folded several times and used to transfer the pan into the wash basin. “What were you trying to do, Toby, burn the place down?”
Tobias frowned. “I was attempting to make toast. But the theory and the practical application appear to be quite different.”
Felix looked into the pan with skepticism. “That was supposed to be toast?”
“I burnt myself!” replied Tobias defensively.
Felix sighed. Tobias had proven over and over again that he had a great technical mind. He was a boon to Ambrose, who had no trouble teaching him about Pravacordian technology. But the poor man seemed to lack common sense all together.
“Why don’t you go take care of your hand,” Felix suggested, “and I will fix breakfast.”
“Shouldn’t you be leaving soon?”
Felix shook his head. “Not today. We’ve got that thing with the Ministry later.”
Pravacordia’s ruling body, the Ministry had denied Ambrose’s many requests to fly to Sanctuary. When he’d not only defied them, but returned with refugees, it had caused quite a commotion. Ambrose, an upstanding citizen with many friends, had been given a slap on the wrist. Tobias, a brilliant young man, had been welcomed to the community.
And then there were Felix and Willow—the Halfsie and the pregnant Elf.
The proceedings on how to deal with such an unprecedented situation had been going on for months, with Felix and Willow placed under Ambrose’s care “until such time as a suitable solution could be found.”
“Oh! That’s right!” nodded Tobias, wrapping his hand in a wet towel. “I almost forgot. I’d be more than happy to watch the twins while you’re gone, if you’d like!”
Felix glanced at the pan again. “Gee, thanks, but I think we’ve got it covered.”
Ambrose’s daughter, Penelope, burst into the kitchen, a flurry of color and sound. Her fiery orange hair ran down her back in a neat braid, and a welding mask was propped open on her head. She wore a well-fitting turquoise tunic over which she had tied a thick leather apron smeared with grease. She was counting to herself in excited whispers, but she stopped abruptly when she entered, wrinkling her nose. “What happened?” she asked. “Smells like burning.”
“Toby was trying to cook again,” replied Felix. He nodded toward the still-
smoking remains in the wash basin. “It didn’t pan out,” he chuckled.
Penelope laughed, shaking her head as she reached over Felix’s shoulder to grab an apple from a bowl on the counter. “Just have some fruit, Toby. It’s safer.”
“But don’t try cutting it,” cautioned Felix, taking an apple for himself as well.
The dining table was elaborately carved from solid wood, but Felix wouldn’t have known it if Penelope hadn’t mentioned it in passing. Like the rest of the kitchen, it was completely covered in odds and ends. There were stacks of books and untidy piles of parchments. Penelope, half-eaten apple held firmly between her teeth, shoved a few things to the side and placed an ink well and fresh parchment down on the newly liberated surface. Sitting, she began scribbling down the numbers she had been reciting before, turning them into neatly printed equations.
“What are you working on?” Felix asked.
“Huh?” she said, a little distracted. “Oh! Tobias and I think we found a way to insulate Pluto’s engine well enough to prevent her from stalling out in extreme climates. We were throwing around ideas last night when it hit me. I worked out a few details this morning and I wanted to write them down before I forget.”
Felix scowled reflexively. “Why do you need the engine to work in extreme climates?”
Penelope looked up, flustered, and shrugged. “Why not?” she replied, simply.
Just then, Ambrose came rushing in from his workshop, throwing the door wide. It banged against a hutch, knocking a teacup to the floor, where it bounced harmlessly on several layers of faded carpeting.
“You’ll never guess!” he began, panting with excitement. “Just arrived—Nimbus class—have a look!”
