Unknown Horizons

by CJ Birch

  I grip my chair. My entire body has gone rigid.

  “When you were assigned here, I was looking forward to working with you.” My heart drops into my stomach. This will not end well. “All your former commanders had really great things to say about you.” She’s silent for so long after, I wonder if it’s an intimidation tactic. It should be. It’s working.

  “But?” I prompt.

  She regards me from behind her desk, arms crossed over her sweater obscuring the words “Delta Academy.” Her lips are tight. “But after your performance at the reception, I’m not sure what to think.”

  I smooth the creases along my thighs and cross my legs, buying time, building courage. “Performance?” I hate how quiet my voice is.

  “I’m not sure where you pulled that description of a Burr from, but I know it wasn’t your memory.”

  I fidget with the hem of my dress, twisting it between my fingers. The image of a man dressed in black Kevlar jumps from my memory. It’s an old memory, much older than the attack on Europa station. But even now, I can still see him clearly. From my angle, he looked almost human. It could’ve been my uncle, or my neighbor dressed up for a lark. It’s when he gets closer that things begin to shift into unreality. His face is far too smooth and doesn’t match the matted gray hair hanging lank from his scalp. His eyes are a crisp green but sit too far back in his face, almost as if someone shoved them into a form of clay, but pressed too hard. The terror of it is how closely they resemble us, but how do you put that into words when explaining to someone what it’s like to meet a Burr?

  I couldn’t use that description at dinner, and so I lied. I don’t want to build another lie, but I know as soon as anyone finds out about my memory gaps, I’ll be sent back to medical and another officer will take my place. I want to trust her, but I’m not that brave. “The truth is, I only remember bits and pieces about the attack.”

  “Then why don’t you just say that?”

  Because I’m a bit of a shit. No, that’s not entirely accurate. When I first got out of the hospital, I tried to tell people that I couldn’t remember anything about the attack, but this only led to more testing. If I hadn’t pretended to recover my memories, I’d still be there.

  “I apologize, Captain. Next time I won’t hesitate to say those words.” I’ve only been here for a day, and I’m already messing up. I know I’m better than this.

  Kellow stands and circles her desk and reaches past to grab something from the shelf behind me. She pulls out a glass bottle with amber liquid inside and two tumblers.

  “You’ve been on board for less than a day and already have half the crew intimidated by you. I’ve had at least six complaints about the new exercise regimen you’ve enacted.”

  A small surge of pride wells up in me.

  “And you have Hartley eating up whatever you’re dishing out. I like the changes and additions you’ve made to the crew schedule. All these things tell me we’re going to work great together, and yet I get this feeling of reserve from you. What is it about me that has you so…standoffish? Is it because I’m a woman? You don’t like the idea of taking orders from me?”

  “I have no problems taking orders from women.” She thinks I’m standoffish? Intimidated, yes, but standoffish?

  “So it’s me specifically.” She nods and pours the amber liquid into glasses and hands me one. I take a whiff, and my sinuses clear at once. Whatever it is, it’s potent. I’m not much of a drinker even when I’m not on watch staff. I’ve discovered the flimsy filter between my brain and mouth dissolves with alcohol.

  “Is this a test?” I get her exasperated look again.

  “No, Ash. It’s not a test. The nature of this mission means our crew is going to have to become a family.” She shoves several tablets aside, making room for her to perch on her desk across from me. Her legs are too short to reach the ground, and they swing as she sips her drink. “I’m just trying to get you to open up, maybe relax a little.”

  I throw the liquid back, and it scorches my throat, making me take a huge gulp of air. Holy fuck! “What is this stuff?” The burn spreads to my fingers and toes, leaving a warm glow in its wake.

  It takes a minute for her laugh to die. “It’s called tequila, and it’s from Earth. The plant it’s made from doesn’t grow too well up here.” She holds the bottle out. “Would you like some more?”

  No. “Sure.” I hold my glass out, and she pours another ounce.

  “I think it’s meant to be sipped.” Her mouth curls around the glass, plumping her bottom lip.

  “I want you to know you can say anything you want, Ash. I prefer bluntness. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I requested you for this assignment.”

  “Requested me?”

  “I had a list of candidates to choose from, and when I spoke with Colonel Shreves, he said you tended to speak your mind. I like that in a first officer.”

  I nearly drop my drink, and several emotions race through me at once. The first across the finish line is doubt, followed by gratitude, and the heaviest, coming in last, is anger.

  “I don’t think he was saying that to recommend me.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  I reach for my pearl, grip it in my fist. I want to rip it from my neck and throw it on the ground. “Because Colonel Shreves is my father.” The night I told him I wanted to apply for the Posterus mission we had one of those excruciating rip-your-heart-out fights, the kind that leaves you emotionally spent for the next couple of days. “He wasn’t keen on my coming along for the mission.” I take a big gulp of tequila. “And in his vocabulary, ‘speak your mind’ is synonymous with ‘rude.’” I finish the last of my drink and cradle the glass in my lap. Before finishing school, I changed my surname to my mother’s because I didn’t want my dad’s name opening any doors for me, and without even meaning to, he opened the most important one.

  She must see at least some of this on my face because she touches my arm lightly. “Hey, you didn’t get this assignment because of him. You got it because you worked hard for it.”

  I blow out a long breath, square my shoulders, and look up at her. I don’t need any handholding. “It doesn’t matter how I got the assignment. All that matters is that I’m good at it.” The alcohol has moved from my fingertips and lodged in my brain. The outlines of objects in the room are starker, and the colors brighter, even the smell of apricots has intensified. I want to close my eyes and drift away.

  “Speaking of which, what are your thoughts on Hartley?” She finishes her drink and corks the bottle before placing it back on the shelf behind me. From Earth. It must have cost a fortune.

  As I think of the best way to put what I got from meeting Hartley into words, I notice that all the knickknacks are gone, and only a couple of items remain on the shelves. “Well, I get the impression he’s spent most of his life wishing he was the big man on campus, and now that he is, it’s going to his head a little.”

  “You think that’ll be a problem? We’ve got a lot of work to do before we arrive at the Posterus, and I don’t need some prima donna thinking it’s beneath him to help install new solar panels and matter collectors.” She returns to her perch on the front of her desk. I wonder where she’s hidden all her stuff. There isn’t a lot of storage space in these cabins, although she’s the captain, so maybe she has more storage than others.

  “All you have to do is treat him like the stud he thinks he is, and you’ve got him in your pocket,” I say and smile because I can’t imagine the captain stroking Hartley’s ego.

  “Hmm, I’ll let you deal with him, if that’s all right.”

  “What did you do with all your stuff?” I’m up and out of my seat before I even realize it. I stop at a shelf running beneath her windows and pick up a small glass orb painted to look like Earth. “You used to have a whole collection of rocks and shells.”

  She takes the globe from my hand and holds it up to the light. It’s painted as Earth used to look, before the oceans receded and
the dust storms took over. “I packed them away.”

  “Why? They were beautiful.”

  “I was reminded recently that first impressions are important. With the nature of our mission, I’m going to have to use this as an office more than I was used to.” She shrugs and her sweater slips off her shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of her collarbone. Her skin is so smooth and rich, like a pail of milk. If I were to reach out and touch it, I wonder if it would cause ripples. “Besides, this way I have fewer things to dust.” She places the globe back on its holder.

  “I should probably go. I have first shift tomorrow.” I turn to leave, but she touches my arm, holding me back. Her fingertips are icy. The contrast with my warm skin sends a shiver through me.

  “About this Hartley thing, Ash, this goes without saying, but no fraternizing with the crew.”

  I almost choke at the idea of fraternizing with Hartley. I may speak his language, but that doesn’t mean I want to. “No, I get that. Don’t shit where you eat.”

  She laughs out loud. It starts deep inside, then resonates around her cabin, sparking every nerve in my body. It’s so freeing the way she uses her whole body like she’s putting everything she’s worth into it, making it count. The sound is deep and throaty, and when it bounces back from around the room, it shudders through me, making me wish I didn’t have to leave.

  “I like the way you laugh,” I say, then immediately wish I could swallow my words. The burn in my cheeks creeps down my neck.

  Her dark blue eyes skim every part of my face. Then she grins. It crinkles her eyes, pushing her cheekbones up. I can’t tell if it’s from pity or amusement.

  “Maybe not so much tequila next time,” she says.

  “Yes, Captain.” I nod. The doors whoosh shut behind me, making my ears ring from the silence in the corridor.

  Chapter Four

  I lose myself in routine. Part of the reason I was chosen for this assignment is my knowledge of energy conservation technologies. Our ship may be fast, but most of the Persephone’s technology for matter collection and filtering is a couple of decades out of date. It’s my job to create and supervise the teams that will make the necessary changes and updates. Not all of them have to be done in the three weeks it’ll take us to get to the Posterus, but the installation of our new docking clamp—the longest and hardest task—will need to be complete when we arrive. I’ve set up three teams, each working eight-hour shifts for every project—ensuring that there are several hopeful epitaphs, involving me, painted in phosphorescent paint around the ship. Hartley is basically my only friend. If he didn’t have worshipping geeklings to do all the work I’ve assigned him, that would change.

  I don’t sleep much. It’s a combination of stress and trying to keep a twenty-four-hour workday. I catch sleep at odd times, but most nights I lie awake staring at my ceiling. By two or three, I’m usually on the track, trying to run myself into exhaustion.

  I enter the mess, not surprised to see Hartley sitting by himself, and grab a tray and shovel a heap of soybeans and lentils on my plate, avoiding the miscellaneous pasta and opting for chocolate pudding instead.

  “Hartley, how is it that you are the fastest talker I’ve ever met, but the slowest eater?” I ask, taking a seat across from him.

  “Speed is relative,” he says and spears a gelatinous globule, meant to represent a meatball, with his fork and shoves it toward his face. It’s too large for his mouth. Slime slides off the sides and pools at the corners, which drips down his chin like a Fu Manchu mustache onto his sloppy plate.

  “It must take you at least three hours to finish a meal. How do you ever get any work done?”

  “But this way I get to eat with everyone.” He grins one of his full-face grins, dropping more food on his plate. It splatters on his coveralls. He wipes at it absently, smearing more sauce from his fingers down the front in four long streaks. I don’t know what’s more disturbing, that it’s almost neon red, or that there are mysterious green bits in it.

  I look away. As much as I appreciate Hartley’s company, he’s not always the greatest dinner companion.

  The mess is lined with long tables on one side and smaller round tables at our end. I’ve noticed that at breakfast and lunch people tend to use the longer tables, rarely bothering to sit in groups. These are usually fast meals. But at dinner, the round tables fill up quickly when crew members are usually off-duty and can linger over their food, or shall we say what passes for food on this ship.

  As I turn back, my eye catches the captain as she enters the food line.

  A second later Hartley notices, too. “Captain!” He waves her over. “We’ve saved you a seat.”

  I concentrate on my food, willing my face to behave and stay its normal color. Over the past week, I’ve only seen her twice, and there was no actual speaking involved. I’m still mortified by my behavior the other night.

  She slides in next to me, her knee briefly grazing mine.

  “Captain,” I say with a nod.

  “Impressive work on the docking clamp. I was surprised at your progress considering you’ve decided to get everything done before we reach the Posterus. You know that’s not necessary. You don’t need to work the crew that hard.”

  She takes a sip of some orange beverage I made the mistake of trying the other day. It reminded me of feet. Several people have perked up at her comment.

  “You’re right, it’s not necessary,” I reply. “But when we get to the Posterus, we’ll lose Hartley and all of his team for at least a couple of weeks. I thought it best to use the resources we have now and work people at a reasonable pace, instead of waiting until we got to the Posterus, where I’d be forced to work everyone overtime.” I shrug as if this is common sense. It is of course only half the reason. The other is that I want to show off, prove that I’m good at my job.

  She smiles that smile like she’s seen through me.

  With a fork full of pasta halfway to his mouth, Hartley says, “Ash, no offense, but you look…ashen.” He lowers the fork to his plate. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re not well liked. In fact, some of the crew have created a Down with Ash Club. They asked me to join, to which of course I said yes. But only to spy and report back to you.” He says it in a matter-of-fact way, but his eyes dart from me to the captain, uncertain of our reaction.

  I laugh out loud. I can’t help myself. “I bet they have several. Just make sure you joined the most exclusive. Only the best for you, Hartley.” If people hate me because I’m doing my job, let them.

  Hartley scratches his ginger scruff, one of his nervous habits. “Okay, just thought I should tell you.”

  A few of Hartley’s geeklings arrive, pushing everyone closer together. I scoot farther down, away from Hartley and nearer to the captain. Her leg is warm against mine, and my stomach does an unexpected flip.

  For a distraction, I point to the orange drink in her hand. “What is that supposed to be?”

  “Orange-flavored water. Did you try it?”

  “Regretfully.”

  She looks down at my plate, which has barely been touched, with its scattered soybeans and lentils. “Not a fan of the cuisine?”

  “Is anybody?”

  She points at Hartley and his mouth full of pasta. He’s deep in conversation about some obscure physics law that has yet to be proven. “I think Hartley likes it.”

  “Hartley has been eating that same plate for the past two hours, and he’s not even half done. I think if anything, that proves he doesn’t have working taste buds.”

  “This is the smallest ship you’ve served on, isn’t it?”

  I nod, and watch as one of the mess staff dumps a canister full of soybeans into a bin. They slide easily, followed by a stream of glop at the bottom. It turns my stomach.

  “The first ship I ever worked on was so small we had to eat rations.” She points to her plate with its tofu meatloaf. “This is gourmet compared to that. God, I can’t even remember the last time I ate
real meat.” I don’t know how we got on this topic, but I suddenly want to know something more personal than the last time she ate meat.

  “Why did you apply for this mission, Captain? If you don’t mind me asking.” She takes a few thoughtful bites of tofu loaf, chewing each slowly. I think maybe it’s too personal a question and she won’t answer, but finally she does.

  “I guess I was looking for a fresh start.”

  Before I can probe more, Hartley breaks into our conversation. “What do you think, Captain?” he asks, still chewing the same mouthful as before. “Do you think the farther out from our solar system we go, the more lawless we’ll become, or will we instinctually revert to form and obey the laws of the Union?”

  She places her fork down next to her half-finished meal. “I know a lot of people think the farther we get from the Union, the less the laws will apply. But the farther out we get, the more important those laws will become.”

  Lunch has reached its peak by this point. The tables have slowly been filling with the crew, and even though there is a low buzz throughout the room as everyone moves through the food line, people have noticeably quieted to listen to our table.

  “But isn’t it important to create our own laws, based on the society we’re building?” I say. “That’s why they set up the Posterus in sects, isn’t it? To make the governing body work for us.” Several other tables have now turned their full attention on us. With only the occasional tinkle of cutlery, the mess has gone silent. “I mean, hasn’t history taught us that what might work in the beginning won’t work forever?” I’ve always felt that for such an adaptable species, we sure have a hard time with change. Part of what makes this so exciting for me is that we are breaking through our comfort zone not only in space exploration, but in government as well. Because the Posterus will have to be self-sustainable as a society as well as a ship, they’ve set up an entirely new directorate to govern the forty-five thousand people aboard.

  There are sixteen sects, each in charge of a different aspect of life, such as food resources, security, crew well-being, engineering, conservation, and our sect, Union fleet, to name a few. There’s no real central government on board, just one representative from each section voted on by that sect. While that in itself might not be revolutionary, they’ve weighted decisions based on knowledge. So if, say, there’s a vote on food resources, that sect will get two votes instead of one. Only time and patience will tell us if it works.