by RS McCoy
The corner of his mouth turned up into a slight smile. “No, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, they were these short-haired field hares. They were crazy fast and could hear you from a mile off, but I raised them all as babies. We had horses and a few cows, too.”
“Do you miss them?” Osip sat on the floor next to her and rested his arms across his knees.
“Not as much anymore. My dad sold them all a few years ago. We grew corn and potatoes after that.” In her mind’s eye, Dasia could picture the farm as it had been. Bolts of green shooting up from the ground, breaking up the orange that never quite seemed to dissipate. The tattered, antique farmhouse with modern fans and haze blowers. She remembered the sun, the bright blur in the sky, the sky they could only see at night. Sometimes it even had a star or two.
When she looked back at Osip, he sat smiling up at her, his hair fallen across his eyebrow. It had only been a little, a tiny piece of who she was, but she was glad she shared it with him. He looked up at her like he was desperate to know more but too afraid to ask.
So Dasia asked him, “What was it like in Dacha? Little girls that drink vodka?”
Osip laughed. His smile spread wide across his face. “Something like that. Potatoes grow pretty well in the underground, so they made a lot of potato vodka. It’s pretty smooth after a few rounds at the distillery. If you could afford it, you could drink it.”
“And you could always afford it?”
“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “I ran jobs to the surface, some of them pretty risky. I ran a three man crew, so we split it. But still, the pot was sweet enough. We always came back with deep pockets.”
Dasia couldn’t imagine having such a life at so young an age. Osip had been valuable and wealthy at eighteen in a way she couldn’t imagine. “What kind of jobs?”
Osip launched into several stories about his old life, about the times he went to the surface with his team and collected something the city needed.
Dasia abandoned her chair to sit beside him on the floor and listen, asking questions when she didn’t understand one of his Russian words. His life seemed so colorful and exciting compared to hers. The parties and the bars and the group of guys with the loyalty of brothers—it was far from her quiet life on the farm.
“That sounds amazing,” she told him.
“It was. I loved it,” he replied with a smile.
“I’m sorry you had to leave it.” Of all of them, Osip had done nothing wrong. He hadn’t killed someone or been involved in a crime. He’d done nothing more than be born in the underground. It wasn’t fair.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not. I loved living there, but I’ll never go back. This is my home now.”
“I can’t believe you can give it up so easily,” she told him.
“There was this woman—her name was Birdfoot or something—she was always going on about the old ways of the tribe. Some Native American stuff. When I was a kid, she’d give us these little treats, some kind of sweet bread with fruit in the middle. Damn they were good. Anyway, before she’d give us the treat, she’d tell us stories. One of them was about some thing called a firefly. I guess it was a bug that would light up at night.”
“Okay?” Dasia couldn’t see what one thing had to do with the other.
“Anyway, there was this warrior who asked the spirits about the meaning of life. They told him that life is like the night, and the good moments come as fast as the flash of a firefly. So the warrior tried to catch all the fireflies, but each one he caught would die. After a while, he couldn’t find anymore. Years and years he looked for them, and when he was really old, he couldn’t look anymore.”
“That’s kind of sad,” she told him.
“Yeah, but at the end, right before he died, a firefly appeared.” Osip smiled like he’d just told a hilarious joke.
Dasia shrugged. “I don’t get it.”
“You can’t go looking for the good stuff in life. You just have to live your life, and the fireflies will come to you.”
“You think that’s true?”
“Of course. You’re here, aren’t you?”
Dasia smiled. “So you think I’m a bug?”
Osip held up a balled fist, then spread his fingers wide as if releasing an insect. “Yep. The best kind of bug. The bug that lights up the night. A firefly.”
ABRAHAM
LUNA COLONY
SEPTEMBER 6, 2232
Abraham spent the morning clearing his belongings out of his room and finding storage in the boys’ room. They’d gone round and round discussing it, but it was the only move that made sense.
After three days of failed emergency calls to Earth, Abraham conceded: Siya would stay. But he had conditions.
Rule Number One: Siya would sleep in Abraham’s room, the only space where he wouldn’t be near the children or Charlene. It meant Abraham was resigned to a too-small bed in a room with a half-dozen boys, but he would be there to watch them if anything happened.
Siya got privacy while Abraham got some small measure of security.
Rule Number Two: Siya wouldn’t be allowed in the greenhouse, animal room, or aquaculture room at any time for any reason. Any small adjustment could render them without a food source. Abraham wouldn’t let Siya be the reason Charlene and the kids starved.
Rule Number Three: Siya could only be around the children with supervision. He could never be alone with a child.
These were the rules Abraham insisted upon, and with which Charlene agreed. When they told Siya, he took it pretty well.
Siya wore an outfit entirely composed of Abraham’s clothes, though they were loose. Abraham was a good three inches taller and far broader in the chest. For that he was glad.
“You understand the rules? If not, we can send you right back out the air lock,” Charlene threatened with crossed arms.
“I understand,” Siya replied. Unda-stand. “If you don’t want to move your room, I’d be happy to stay with the girl.” He shot Charlene a wink.
Abraham wanted to kill him. “If you touch her—”
Siya stood with a smile and patted his arm, a pacifying move. “Yeah, I’m sure you can think of all kinds of ways to make me sorry.” Tink. Kines a wes.
Abraham pumped his hands into fists as he watched Siya stroll down the corridor.
Charlene uncrossed her arms and pressed herself to his chest. “Okay, maybe this was a bad idea.”
“If you think he could hurt you, or the kids, then he goes.” Abraham was not prepared to entertain any amount of risk.
“As long as he follows the rules, it’ll be fine.” With feigned enthusiasm, she added, “Only seven months to go.”
Abraham returned to the greenhouse to do his chores for the day but struggled to focus. He watered the plants that needed it, pruned others, and collected enough vegetables for their usual dinner plus one. But Abraham couldn’t help but wonder what Siya was doing.
Was he in class with Charlene? Was he talking to Kellen? Was he somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be?
In a carefully orchestrated colony, a single person could push everything else out of alignment. If he had a mind to do it, Siya could kill them all.
Abraham wondered how long it would last.
So he hurried through his chores. He set his food in the kitchen before going to check on Charlene and the kids. They were in the activity room, throwing balls and playing games. Siya stood beside Charlene on the far wall. They looked to be talking.
Abraham didn’t like it.
But he knew there were worse things Siya could be doing. Deactivating the water reclaimer. Lighting a fire. Killing the chickens.
Satisfied they were all safe for the time being, Abraham returned to the kitchen and made dinner. Fifteen. He collected a few extra zucchini and made an extra batch of goat cheese, all the while wondering if they had enough resources to take the strain of another mouth, an adult one at that.
Abraham and Charlene served each child a full plate of baked zucchi
ni, shredded chicken, and fruit kabobs of honey dew melon, strawberry, and blackberry. Siya sat back in his chair and ate like a king while the children peppered him with questions.
“You really came all the way from Earth?” Ellicot asked with berry-red lips.
“Have you ever seen a bear?” inquired Posey.
“How long have you been in space?” asked Lorde.
Siya, at least, was gracious enough to answer their questions. They treated him like the new class pet. Abraham only hoped he wouldn’t bite.
“I been mining here on Ma—” Siya glanced at Abraham in time to see a glare of death. “On the moon for eight months.” A monz.
“What’s it like on Earth?” asked Henry, his eyes ablaze with curiosity.
“We’ve been learning about the world wars,” Charlene said to explain the questions focused on the homeworld most of them couldn’t remember.
On and on it went. Alana admired the dark cocoa color of his skin, even darker than hers. Lorde, Ellicot, and the older ones asked him about the planets he’d visited, his home in South Africa, and why he decided to become a miner.
The little ones watched with awe and chewed in silence. When one did hazard a question, usually the energetic and wild Posey, they were about animals or stars or colors.
Siya enjoyed the whole affair as a rock star enjoyed the limelight. He chatted easily, his favorite topic—himself—never exhausted.
The children took to him instantly.
At last, Charlene gave them the five-minute warning before the end of dinner. The chattier ones hurried to throw their food in their mouths while the little ones brought their dishes to the sink.
Only Kellan stayed put in his seat beside Abraham. “Go on, put your dish away like Ms. Charlene told you.”
Kellan kept his gaze across the room, refusing to acknowledge Abraham’s instructions. When Abraham followed the track of his eyes, he realized Kellan was staring at Siya.
“It’s okay. He’s just visiting for a while. Go on.” Kellan remained still as stone. His blond curls hung limp.
Charlene helped the children get their dishes put away and the table cleared before she came back for Kellan. She reached out her arms to carry him, but he shied away. His features twisted into an ugly cry. He screeched, and a series of fat tears rolled down his full cheeks.
Charlene pulled back at the sound. She hadn’t even touched him.
Both Abraham and Charlene stared at the uncharacteristic outburst, at the usually happy child who now screamed for no reason. His cheeks reddened with each passing second.
“That boy needs a whackin,” Siya offered with a bright-white smile.
Charlene put a hand on Kellan’s back to calm him but immediately registered the opposite effect. The boy only screamed louder. He pulled his shoulder away from her.
“Hey bud, it’s okay. Do you—you want to stay here a while?” Charlene attempted, but Kellan still screamed. Abraham couldn’t even tell if he’d heard her.
“Leave him here for a while. I’ll bring him back when I’m done.” Abraham didn’t think he was qualified to handle children, but this was Kellan. And he clearly didn’t want to be near Charlene at the moment.
Charlene nodded over his screams and ushered the other eleven to begin their reading time before bed.
Abraham was alone with Siya and Kellan. As the room emptied and quieted, so did Kellan. His eyes returned to watch Siya, but at least he wasn’t screaming.
“You want to sit with me?” Abraham asked, unsure of what to do to help the boy.
Rather than answer, Kellan launched out of his chair, arms spread wide as Abraham caught him and pulled him into his lap. Kellan rested his cheek on Abraham’s chest and sniffled.
“Teach that boy to be soft,” Siya said to no one in particular as he finished off the last kabob.
At the sound of Siya’s voice, Kellan grabbed a fistful of Abraham’s shirt and hid his face against his chest. In a heartbeat, it became so painfully obvious that Kellan was scared—terrified—of the stranger.
Abraham ignored Siya’s comment and stood to clean the kitchen. Kellan slid his arms around Abraham’s neck, his legs around his waist. With one hand holding Kellan, washing the dishes and replacing them in the cabinets took twice as long, but he managed.
With all the food cleared from the table, Siya wandered to cold storage and rummaged through the goat cheese, milk, fresh eggs, and other valuables Abraham had collected.
“There’s nothing in there for you.” Abraham stood tall, though the effect was probably lessened by the child who clung to him.
“Man’s gotta eat.” Siya didn’t move. His head and hand were still in the open door, searching.
“We all just ate.” Abraham crossed the kitchen to slam the heavy door closed, Siya barely pulling back in time. “There are limited resources here, and you’re already stretching what we can provide. You’ll be given a nutritionally complete menu based on your personal needs, but that’s all. You don’t get anything else.”
Siya only rolled his eyes and returned to his seat at the now-empty table.
Abraham would have liked nothing more than to stand guard over their food supplies for the rest of the night, but he had to take Kellan back to the others. He found Charlene already in the boys’ room, helping them get changed, brush their teeth, and get into bed. The kitchen had taken so long they’d missed reading time.
She offered him a pained smile when she saw him enter with Kellan on his shoulder. “I’m sorry we took so long,” Abraham explained as he attempted to put Kellan on his bed. But the boy clung even tighter.
“No, it’s all right. I’m sorry I scared him. I didn’t mean—”
Abraham wouldn’t let her finish. “It’s not you. He’s been comfortable with you for months.” To Kellan he added, “You’re not scared of Ms. Charlie are you?”
The mess of curls shook.
“See?” he said with a smile to Charlene. “Come on, Kels. Time for bed. Here you go.” Kellan released his grip and let Abraham lower him into bed, still in his activity suit. Charlene must not have cared either. She pulled up his covers and kissed his forehead.
Ellicot, the last boy out of bed, jumped in when he saw the others already tucked in. Charlene and Abraham moved to the door where Abraham hit the lights and said, “Good night, sleep tight, see you when the sun is bright.”
A few chuckles emerged from the dark before he shut the door and let them sleep. He would be back to join them soon enough.
“You think he’s okay?” Charlene asked, her brows knit together with worry. She crossed her arms and held them tight against her chest.
“Yeah, I just think everyone’s going to be on edge for a while. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He stroked her arms from shoulder to elbow and back to shoulder. “He’s just little and scared.”
“I know, I just hate that I made him upset like that. He’s never been like that.”
Abraham couldn’t imagine a person caring for another more than Charlene cared for the children or he cared for Charlene in that moment.
“Want to talk in the kitchen tonight?” she asked looking up at him.
Abraham desperately wanted to sit in the kitchen and sip wine as they discussed the homeworld he’d forgotten, like they used to in the weeks before Siya. “He’ll be there,” Abraham reminded her, though of course she knew.
“We can’t avoid him forever. Might as well get over it.” Abraham saw a flash of something in her eyes, something he didn’t recognize. But he could see that Charlene didn’t want to go to bed yet. Maybe she was still upset about Kellan.
“All right, come on.” Abraham walked down the rounded corridor back to the kitchen and started pouring the wine.
“Would you like some wine? It’s not that good, but it does the trick,” Abraham offered Siya.
“Nah, got no taste for it.”
Charlene appeared a moment later with the tablet in her hand. She sat and pulled up an image of Earth—an
old picture taken from space. She thanked him for the wine he placed beside her and said, “Ready? Tonight is a brief history of Earth. Very brief,” she said with a giggle.
MABLE
THE MANDALA HOTEL, 832, BERLIN, EUROPE
SEPTEMBER 6, 2232
Rowen’s deep-brown eyes pierced through the dark. His hands were strong as they lashed out, not at her, but someone else. A figure was there with them. A smooth, hairless head. Eyes as black as night.
A Dark One.
Not one, but a dozen. Rowen fought them, but there were too many. No one could win a fight so unmatched. He’d mortally wounded at least five when one produced a knife. Then, they all had one. In a moment of synchrony, the blades punctured him all at once. His chest, his torso, his back. Rowen screamed out in pain, a sound like none she’d ever heard from him. A sound he never could have made.
Rough hands gripped her shoulders, though she couldn’t remember who or why or even where she was. Mable only knew to throw her hands out in defense against the attacker.
“Mable!” she heard someone scream her name, a voice she’d heard before but didn’t know. She launched another fist and felt it connect, though the hands didn’t release her.
“Mable! Stop!” But she wouldn’t stop. Not now, not ever. She wouldn’t let them get her, stab her with their blades like they did Rowen. Mable fought harder. She swung her elbow around and felt the heavy impact against the attacker’s chest.
But she wasn’t released.
“Mable, hey, ca—calm down. Maggie!”
Mable froze. Who would call her that? How could they know that name?
“Hey, just relax. You were screaming in your sleep,” explained the voice, smooth and calm but for the ragged edge of breath.
Theo Kaufman.
The name came as soon as she saw his face illuminated by the yellow light of the lamp. The hotel room. Germany. Bugs. A tsunami of information crashed down all at once.
Mable tried to blink it away. Theo sat on the edge of the bed where she lay tangled in the sheets, panting.
