Li Sin’s face pales and they begin shaking. “Are the gods going to find us?”
No. We will leave the system as ordered.
“But all the people …” Li Sin swallows. “Are they going to die?”
Yes, she says, because she does not have the heart to lie to Li Sin. It is protocol.
“I shouldn’t have come on board.” Li Sin covers their face with both hands. “I’m bad luck.”
This is not your fault, Ascending Dawn says, confused at Li Sin’s sudden distress.
“I’m always there when bad things happen! I was born on Moondark Glory Surpassing Time. And then she died. My family … my other ship …”
What happened?
Tears drip down Li Sin’s face. “She died when dust leeches infected the engines.”
Dust leeches are noncorporeal entities that drift in the deeper creases of subspace, corrode a ship’s matter and destabilize its existence until everything crumbles into dust.
That wasn’t your fault. It’s a statistical likelihood of traveling in the red-tide subspace routes.
“Moon made me and the ones not infected leave on a shuttle before she—she—”
Self-immolated? Ascending Dawn asks softly, though she knows it must be so. It is a failsafe written into ships that travel red subspace waves. It is said that self-destruction is a mercy.
Li Sin wipes at their face, but they only sob harder. “She’s dead. Everyone’s dead.”
How did you get aboard here? Ascending Dawn asks, wishing she knew how to comfort Li Sin. Her pilot’s arms do not feel sufficient to hug her friend.
Li Sin sniffs and blinks against more tears. “I didn’t have anywhere to go on Centari Rampant. Then I saw you, and … you sounded so alone. Your doors let me in.”
I’m sorry for what happened to you, she says. She is poor substitute for what Li Sin lost.
Li Sin stands up, mouth trembling. “I should go away.”
Why?
“I don’t want you to be hurt. I don’t want anyone else to be hurt because I’m nearby.”
But there is nowhere Li Sin might go, except into the void of space.
Stay. Ascending Dawn’s pilot slowly reaches out, her hand webbed with implants. Please? We will be okay. I will protect you.
She wonders how many of the refugees from Aes August had anyone to tell them the same.
“What about the other people?” Li Sin whispers. “Who will protect them?”
Protocol dictates there is no mercy, no solace, and no hope for those on Olinara V.
She does not like this protocol.
Please report to the bridge, Ascending Dawn texts her officers. To Li Sin, she says, We will find a way to help.
Her core officers and Zeta gather on the bridge. Jamil leans close to the viewscreen, as if proximity will give him better insight. All notice Li Sin but after a curt explanation from Kosavin, Li Sin is dismissed as an auxiliary civilian companion to the pilot and they can stay on the bridge.
Everyone has heard the decrees.
“Can we do nothing?” Hayato whispers.
Zeta folds zir legs down until ze kneels beside the pilot’s chair. “The efficient course is to obey and leave the system.”
“They will all die,” Jamil says, his voice numb.
The world will die. Her protocol does not extend to refugees. Even if it did, she cannot save them all. I wish to know what options we have.
She feels very small, infinitesimal against the backdrop of the Principality and the might of gods.
Jamil presses his fingertips against the undersides of his eyes. “I know we cannot evacuate an entire planet. But we could save some lives. We aren’t a warship. We don’t have to participate in genocide through inaction.”
To break protocol will put the crew in danger.
“I know.” He lays a hand against the side of her viewscreen. “We all know.”
Illyan Chu, the bi-gender security officer, rubs her beard with a thumb. Her voice is low, rich, and she hides anxiety beneath a calm façade. “I have drones synced to in-ship-only networks. It’ll be rough, but I can maintain order in the passenger decks.”
Kosavin keeps her spine rigid. “My birthship was a dreadnaught who carried war prisoners for the Violet Sun. Many would be … lost in transit, the ones tagged combatants or enemies who were neither. I have the skill to disable system-based tracking. Our lost prisoners found off-grid lives waiting on rim worlds far from the center of the Principality, but lives nonetheless.”
Jamil arches his eyebrows. “Highly illegal, isn’t it?”
“Naturally.” Kosavin’s lip twitches, her microexpression hinting of dark amusement. “It’s at your disposal, Mr. Najem.”
“We have resources to carry two-thousand non-crew,” Sigi adds, their fingers tapping rapidly across a tablet. “If Mr. Najem and Officer Kosavin alter the neural links and disable tracking for Olinara V citizens, we could conceivably evacuate some of the people before the warships decimate the planet’s surface. Besides, the warships are under orders from the Gold Sun; they won’t notice an empty transport ship from the Blue Sun clearing the sector as ordered.”
Kosavin folds her arms behind her back. “Doable,” she says. “But we must act now.”
Zeta inclines zir head, multi-faceted eyes reflecting the faces of those around zir. “Agreed. Ascending Dawn?”
Everyone waits for her response. She is the ship. Li Sin watches her as intently as her crew. If she violates protocol, if she defies the Sun Lords, she will be hunted for treason. She will no longer be a good ship.
Obedience is not a guilt she can endure. She will not turn away this time.
We will save the ones we can.
One-thousand seven-hundred and five. That is as many people as Sigi can smuggle aboard before Ascending Dawn, fueled while her crew works in frantic haste, must undock and escape the atmosphere before the warships drop from subspace.
Jamil, with aid from his medical staff, modifies neural links while Illyan directs the security drones to shepherd refugees into the appointed bays. Hayato and Zeta commit additional treason by tampering with the Blue Sun Lord’s imprint on Ascending Dawn’s skin. Her shell is dark, now, muted, so she can no longer hear the will of her god.
It is oddly indifferent to what she has always felt. Has her god not been commanding her all this time?
She disables her automated beacons; she can navigate and coordinate with planetary docks, but she is a shadow to the radar systems of other ships now. Though she cannot hold her breath, the idiom seems appropriate.
She flies away from Olinara V, inputting jump coordinates to subspace routes. She does not look as a hundred honor-guard warships flanking the celestial Gold Sun Lord drop into orbit around the colony world and begin the bombing.
She mutes all broadcasts escaping Olinara V.
She cannot bear the dying world’s screams.
Running dark, Ascending Dawn skirts the outmost fringe of the Principality, unnoticed yet by the Blue Sun Lord. She is not scheduled to return to Rigel Prime for two weeks, and with the disruption—death—of Olinara V, Sigi expects they have a buffer of time before the ship’s disappearance is logged. Space is vast, Sigi reminds her, and not even the gods can see everything.
Ascending Dawn’s skin hums with the desperation and grief of her passengers. But a ship cannot weep.
Kosavin directs her to the rim worlds that are hostile or fractured from the centralized might of the Principality. Kosavin knows well how to make refugees disappear safely into new cities; she can do no more than give the ones they saved a second chance to live. When Ascending Dawn has smuggled everyone taken from Olinara V to a string of rim worlds and asteroid colonies, she is out of time.
In orbit around the fourth moon of Irdor Se, she tells her crew, You must go now. You are not safe here. Jamil can modify your implants like the others. You can escape.
There is silence, at first. How can words hurt so much to a ship?
&nb
sp; “I cannot leave,” Zeta says. “LK-2875 was made for this ship. I would stay, regardless. This is home.”
One by one, her each of crew tells her, boldly, quietly, unflinchingly, gladly, that they, too, will stay. They will remain aboard the ship. They are part of Brightened Star, Ascending Dawn. She feels as overwhelmed as she did when she saw the universe expand.
But we will be found eventually, she says.
Kosavin nods. “Likely. But not soon.”
She looks at them all, on the bridge and at their stations elsewhere: forty-three persons skilled and capable of keeping her running and not alone, who will go into exile with her.
It was my choice to defy the Blue Sun, she says. I do not want you to be hurt.
“You didn’t do this by yourself,” Illyan says. He stretches, grinning. “We chose this lot.”
“The Blue Sun will not care.” Kosavin tilts her head, a sharp little movement. Her left optic shines with binary code as she sorts data points and probabilities. “And it’s done.”
Jamil shrugs, the corner of his mouth turned up. “We’re staying.” His smile widens and he loops his arm about his husband’s waist. “It’ll be an adventure.”
Hayato laughs. “One I would not miss.”
Kosavin kneels beside Li Sin. “And you, child?”
“I want to stay with the ship,” Li Sin says. “Can I stay, Ascending Dawn?”
Yes.
Kosavin nods, and that is all.
Something swells in Ascending Dawn, rippling through her shipskin and beating in her engines like the heartbeat in her pilot’s chest. She will not be left alone in the stars.
Thank you, she tells her family unit.
They disperse to their stations as she calculates the next jump towards Cormorant Sigma and the Arora Nebula System. Kosavin has estimated that it will be a safe harbor for them all until—if—they choose to go elsewhere later.
Will you sing? she asks Li Sin. She wants to give them the memory of her awakening in return; of how she first saw the universe. She will find a way to share it with them. I’d like to hear my song.
She is not afraid any more.
Li Sin holds her pilot’s hand. They sing to her and now she will remember her song as she glides toward an unknown future.
She finds a glimmer of memory tucked deep inside and allows herself to inspect it at last: that of her mother’s eyes and proud smile just for her.
Jody Lynn Nye lists her main career activity as ‘spoiling cats.’ When not engaged upon this worthy occupation, she writes fantasy and science fiction books and short stories. Since 1987 she has published over 40 books and more than 120 short stories. Over the last twenty or so years, Jody has taught in numerous writing workshops and participated on hundreds of panels covering the subjects of writing and being published at science-fiction conventions. She has also spoken in schools and libraries around the north and northwest suburbs. In 2007 she taught fantasy writing at Columbia College Chicago. She also runs the two-day writers workshop at DragonCon. Jody lives in the northwest suburbs of Chicago, with her husband Bill Fawcett, a writer, game designer, military historian and book packager, and a black cat, Jeremy.
When J.A. Campbell is not writing she's often out riding horses or working sheep with her dogs. She lives in Colorado with her three cats, her border collies, Kira and Bran, her Traveler, Triska, and her Irish Sailor. She is the author of the Macrow Necromancers series, the Ghost-Hunting Dog series, the Tales of the Travelers, and many other young adult books. She’s a member of the Horror Writers Association and the Dog Writers of America Association. She is also the editor for Story Emporium fiction magazine. Find out more at www.writerjacampbell.com.
Sydney Seay is a writer, artist, soon-to-be college student, and the magic user in her D&D campaigns. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland with her family and their spoiled dachshund, where she spends way too much time obsessing over old Sci-Fi television. This is her first published work.
Richard A. Becker has written for micro-budget feature films, encyclopedias, Fortune 500 corporations, radio commercials, roleplaying games and more. His short fiction has been included in anthologies edited by Jay Lake and Nick Mamatas, John L. Thompson and Robert Hood. He is a native of Los Angeles, California.
Gwendolynn Thomas found her voice swapping jokes over the dinner table with her six siblings, learning to be the funny one in the raucous crowd. Now long since moved out to a much quieter home in Cambridge, MA, she's devoted her career to bringing that same humor to the books she writes. You can find her and subscribe to hear about her future works at GwendolynnThomas.com.
Mariah Southworth lives in Northern California. When not writing, she enjoys playing table top role playing games, watching cartoons while curled up with her cat, and reading. Her favorite science fiction writer is Isaac Asimov. She is probably a human.
Alex Pearl is a writer and student in Phoenix, Arizona currently earning his doctorate in Clinical Psychology at Midwestern University. Alex is frequently described as "a stark portrait of exhaustion," "a marvel of aeronautical engineering," and "that boy in the bog that types words." Alex typically writes horror stories, though when the grim grip of The Terrors releases him, he will occasionally tread into the world of wonder and intrigue that is science fiction. Alex lives with his family and their four amazing dogs. The author of two self-published short story collections, this is his first professional publication.
Eneasz Brodski lives in Denver, where he is currently working on his first novel. He fantasizes that if maybe he just yells into the void enough, some day there will be an answer. It's possible he's going about this whole "life" thing the wrong way, but only time will tell. In the meantime, he also produces a biweekly podcast of rationalist fiction at HPMoRpodcast.com, and blogs at DeathIsBadBlog.com.
Marie DesJardin writes both humorous and dramatic speculative fiction, from short stories to novels to screenplays. Credits include Analog Science Fiction and Fact, Compelling Science Fiction, Flash Fiction Online, Helios Quarterly Magazine (featured author), and Story Quest (award winner). By day, Marie produces eLearning for a video surveillance company, which means she never has to ask what anyone else is doing, because she already knows. She has one published SF novel, For the Time Being, and several more in development. Marie resides in Denver, Colorado, travels extensively, and enjoys hiking in the mountains when they're not on fire.
Alex Acks is a writer, geologist, and dapper AF. Their debut novel from Angry Robot Books is Hunger Makes the Wolf. In addition, they’ve written for Six to Start and been published in Strange Horizons, Lightspeed, Daily Science Fiction, and more. Alex lives in Denver with their two furry little bastards, where they twirl their mustache, watch movies, and bike. For more information, see http://www.alexacks.com.
Amelia Kibbie is a writer, mother, and high school English teacher in a small Iowa town. Amelia's first story, written in the third grade, was a Super Fudge fan fiction. Her major influences as a young reader were Anne Rice and Stephen King, and her love of science fiction began with an addiction to The X-Files. Young Amelia was hardcore Star Wars fan, but in her 30s, she's traitorously switched to Star Trek. She writes short stories and blogs, and is working on four different novels. Her work represents any and every genre from literary to romance to sci-fi to horror. She lives in Iowa City with her husband, baby daughter, a ghost, and three cats who think they own the place. Find more of her work at ameliakibbie.com.
A. Merc Rustad is a queer non-binary writer who lives in the Midwest United States. Favorite things include: robots, dinosaurs, monsters, and tea. Their stories have appeared in Lightspeed, Fireside, Apex, Uncanny, Escape Pod, Shimmer, Cicada, and other fine venues, with reprints included in The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015, Wilde Stories 2016, Heiress of Russ 2016, and Transcendent 2016. Merc likes to play video games, watch movies, read comics, and wear awesome hats. You can find Merc on Twitter @Merc_Rustad or their website: http://amercrustad.com.
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