At the Edge

by Lee Murray

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is it a virus? You got a ship virus on you and now it’s infecting the boat systems? Is that it?’

  ‘No.’ It wasn’t a virus. She didn’t know what it was.

  Tsione crossed the cabin, a black shadow in the half-light. ‘You going to try and steal my boat, kid? Cos I can tell you right now, that ain’t ever going to happen. Starstriker’s mine and she’s stayin’ that way.’

  ‘I have a name,’ Rerenga said. ‘You named me.’

  Tsione crowded her against the bulkhead, eyes glinting. ‘You trying to steal my boat, Rerenga?’

  ‘No. I’m not trying to steal your ship.’

  Tsione held her gaze for a moment longer, and then relaxed and retreated. ‘Good. Glad we got that cleared up.’

  ‘You scared me.’

  ‘Lots of scary things in space, kid. Had to be sure you’re not one of them.’ Her head turned. ‘You going to cry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  The ship shuddered, pitching to one side before righting itself. Tsione swore.

  ‘What was that?’ Rerenga asked.

  ‘Blast if I know,’ Tsione said. ‘We’ve got nothin’. Whatever it was, didn’t come from us.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Can’t you do anything but ask questions?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  Tsione barked a laugh. ‘Give me a minute to check the console.’

  It felt more like ten minutes than one, but Rerenga didn’t complain. Finally, Tsione spun her chair and beckoned. ‘C’mere.’

  She stepped up to the instrument panel, her eyes following Tsione’s finger to where a map panel sat frozen.

  ‘Okay,’ Tsione said. ‘Two days ago I left Port Pratchett on Miranda, which is a planet over here,’ she pointed to a dot. ‘We’re bound for Port Atticus on Tympani Tertius, which is,’ she traced a line to another dot, ‘here. Which means we’re floating in space,’ her finger drew a circle around an area between the two dots, ‘somewhere here.’

  Rerenga’s mouth was dry. ‘Have you been this way before?’

  ‘Once,’ Tsione said. ‘It must have been four or five years ago.’

  ‘And nothing like this happened?’

  ‘What is this, a quiz show? No. Nothing like this happened last time.’

  The console lights died, leaving them in darkness.

  Rerenga’s voice rang out. ‘I don’t think that’s true.’ She didn’t remember opening her mouth.

  The lights flickered and came on.

  Tsione stared at her. ‘That’s as may be,’ she said, ‘but that’s all I’m telling you. It’s none of your business.’

  ‘It is my business,’ Rerenga said. Was it? Why?

  ‘No,’ Tsione snapped. ‘It’s not. Leave it be.’ She grimaced and lifted a shaking hand to her head.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My head hurts like a newlywed’s—’ she caught Rerenga’s eye and broke off. ‘Uh, like something that hurts a lot.’

  Slowly, ponderously, the ship rolled over and kept rolling. Tsione’s eyes widened. She lunged for a button on the far side of the console, pressed it, muttered frantically under her breath, then engaged three more switches. The air grew heavier.

  ‘Get on the bunk,’ Tsione barked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Get on the bottom bunk! Now!’

  They made for the bunk, slipped as the floor pitched, leapt, and made it.

  ‘Hold on,’ Tsione said. ‘I really don’t know if this will work.’

  Rerenga curled a hand around the bunk frame as the stars out the viewport wheeled in a lazy semi-circle. The air pressed down on her, crushing her onto the bunk. The stars stopped turning. Tsione blew out a breath.

  ‘Okay. I’m going to have a look. Stay there.’

  She shuffled to the side of the bunk and peered at the metal plate flooring. Slowly, she moved until she was sitting on the edge. She drew a breath; her hands clenched white-knuckled on the rim of the top bunk; and in one swift movement stood up.

  Nothing happened.

  Tsione grinned. ‘It worked!’

  ‘What worked?’ Rerenga scooted off the bunk and stepped across to the table, where the piles of paperwork were shaking as if a stiff wind was blowing.

  ‘Don’t touch them,’ Tsione cautioned. ‘I rerouted any residual power to the instrument board and engaged the gravity lock. We’ve got enough mass to keep us up here, but I don’t know about the smaller things.’

  ‘What do you mean, keep us up here?’

  Tsione nodded out the viewport.

  Rerenga followed the movement. ‘The stars are upside down.’

  ‘No,’ Tsione said, still smiling. ‘We are upside down.’

  Rerenga stared at her, perplexed. Was she mad?

  Tsione pointed to the floor. ‘That is up.’ Pointed to the ceiling. ‘That is down. Or it is for the purposes of the boat’s artificial grav, at any rate.’ Pointed to the floor again. ‘The gravity lock stops the boat compensating for roll. It keeps the centre of gravity tied to the floor, so the floor is always down. Which is why they,’ she pointed out at the stars, ‘look like they’re upside down. They’re in their normal places, but we’ve rolled a hundred and eighty degrees.’

  Rerenga had a brief, dizzying image of what they must look like from outside: the tiny ship floating belly-up in space, she and Tsione walking across the ceiling as if it was normal … which it was, because the ceiling was the floor.

  ‘I see,’ she said.

  Tsione stepped to the rear of the cabin. ‘I’m going to use the h-pod,’ she said, ‘if it still works. And when I get back, we’ll jemmy the hatch and take a look at the engines. Don’t touch anything till I get back, okay?’

  Did she not trust her? ‘Okay.’

  Tsione disappeared into the h-pod.

  Rerenga sat on the floor-ceiling and watched the unmoving time stamp, nibbling her lower lip.

  Twelve thirty-six. Why was it important? Twelve thirty-six. One two three six. One thousand, two hundred and thirty-six. It was important, she could feel it in her gut, but why?

  She didn’t know.

  She hated not knowing.

  When Tsione came back, they cantilevered the chair out of the cockpit, exposing the engine hatch. Tsione hoisted it up and lowered the short ladder into the pit. There was a click. Green light ghosted from the hole.

  ‘That light still works,’ Tsione said. ‘Good. This might take a while.’

  It took several hours. Rerenga sat with her back to the console, alternately watching Tsione and the time stamp, and politely ignoring the stream of muffled swearing.

  There was a clatter and Tsione emerged from the pit, wiping her grimy hands on a rag. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with her. The engines look fine to me, except for the fact that they’re not going.’

  She’d barely set foot on the deck when the green pit light failed. The blue instrument lights died, too. Tsione cursed; there was some fumbling and then the creak of the pilot’s chair.

  ‘Don’t move.’ Her voice echoed in the stillness.

  ‘Okay,’ Rerenga said. She hadn’t planned to.

  The cabin was in darkness. She couldn’t have said where the ship ended and the black of space began. The stars out the viewport shone white and cold, glittering, mesmerising in their scattered patterns. But the patterns were wrong. The stars were upside down because the ship was wrong, the ship was upside down.

  The stars began to move.

  ‘Tsione?’ Her voice wavered.

  ‘I see it,’ Tsione said grimly. ‘We’re rolling again. Hold on to something and pray it stops before the pressure of the spin splats us against the hull.’

  The stars wheeled in a leisurely
arc, ninety degrees, one hundred and eighty, two hundred and seventy – Rerenga’s breath caught – three hundred and sixty, ninety again, one eighty, two seventy…

  They were gaining speed as they rolled. The blue instrument lights flickered and died again; the green pit light flared and stayed on, lending an eerie glow to the spinning ship. Tsione sat frozen in the pilot’s seat, hands clenched on the armrests, mouth set in a hard line.

  She caught Rerenga looking at her, and shrugged.

  ‘There’s nothing I can do.’ Her voice was quiet, defeated. ‘No engines, no instruments. I’m not in control. I don’t know what’s happening, or why she’s—’ Her voice cracked. ‘Why she’s doing this. I’ve heard the stories – who hasn’t? Travellers caught on the edge of space like this, bad things happening with no explanation, the engines go, the systems go. They call it the death roll. Boat starts spinning and won’t stop. Keeps at it, getting faster and faster, until the gravity lock gives out. The g-forces knock you unconscious and then kill you, and the next ship along finds the boat and the bodies, still rolling, months later. Life support’s failing,’ she added. ‘We might run out of oxygen before then. It’d be a mercy.’

  Her tone changed. ‘But none of those black box stories had a little girl show up cabin-side twelve hours before everything went pear-shaped.’

  Rerenga looked at her.

  ‘It makes me wonder, is all.’ Tsione took her gun from the rack on the wall. She checked the magazine, chambered a round, and turned to face Rerenga.

  Rerenga swallowed.

  The words were quiet. ‘Why are you here, kid?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not in the mood for games.’

  ‘I don’t know why I’m here.’

  ‘Tell me why you’re here, Rerenga, or—’

  ‘What happened to you last time?’

  Tsione blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘Last time,’ she said desperately, the words leaving her mouth without conscious thought. ‘Last time you were along this route. What happened?’

  ‘I told you, nothing like this—’

  ‘But something happened last time, and something’s happening this time. What was it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Tsione’s voice rose.

  ‘I can help you,’ Rerenga pressed. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

  ‘No. Why are you here?’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Why is she called Starstriker?’

  The question hung in the air. Their breathing was loud in the silence. Tsione licked her lips, and then nodded. She didn’t lower the gun.

  ‘She was called the Zuflucht when I bought her. I forget what it means – safety or sanctuary or something—’

  ‘Refuge,’ Rerenga said.

  ‘Or refuge, yeah. Something like that.’

  ‘It means refuge.’

  Tsione gave her a hard look. ‘All right. It means refuge.’

  Rerenga gestured for her to continue.

  ‘The guy was a second-generationer from Edinburgh II; his name was—’

  ‘Douglas,’ she said.

  ‘Douglas,’ Tsione confirmed. She didn’t look surprised at the interruption. ‘He’d bought it off a lady from Zion, who bought it off a man from Archimedes Major, who bought it from his father, who got it off a cousin who lived on the second moon of Terminus. You get the idea.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Apparently, the original owner had built it herself. Came from Earth, according to the records; little group of settlements called the Cargills on an island chain in the south seas—’ She trailed off. ‘Sorry. Where was I?’

  ‘Douglas.’

  ‘Douglas. Right. So she was the Zuflucht when I bought her. I hated the name, mostly because I could barely pronounce it and it was a pain to spell when I was writing paperwork.’ She paused, thinking. The gun never wavered. ‘I was fifteen when I bought her. Spent every coin I had.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Hadn’t had her six months when I was out this way on my own. Had a cargo of fruit in stasis; they were overdue for delivery at Port Atticus. I was pushing her hard,’ she admitted. ‘Harder than I should’ve, most like. Wasn’t paying attention like I should’ve been. I was young, she was my first boat. You know.’

  ‘I know,’ she echoed.

  ‘We hit a rock.’

  Rerenga waited, tense, perfectly still, poised at the edge of the chasm. With every word, the pieces fell into place.

  Tsione held up her free hand in a fist. ‘A little flaming rock. About this big. Wouldn’t have been so bad, but we were going so fast – I’d taken off most of the shielding and diverted the spare power to the engines…’ She shook her head, eyes dark with pain. ‘Tore straight through us.’

  Rerenga caught her breath, remembering.

  ‘Shattered her into a million pieces,’ Tsione continued. ‘Hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before. I could … I could hear her screaming around me.’ She took a calming breath. ‘And then she stopped.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then an empty carrier arrived not a day later on its way through to Port Pratchett. Found the pieces scattered, found me floating in the lifesuit. I paid them everything and promised more, and we gathered every bit of her we could find – every splintered length of bulkhead, every square of floor panel, every engine spring – and took her to Miranda.’

  Knowledge hovered out of reach. ‘Miranda. What happened on Miranda?’

  ‘I rebuilt her.’ The words were soft. ‘Used every original part I had, replaced the parts I didn’t have, and spent every spare moment, every spare coin rebuilding her. Did as much of the work as I could with my own hands. Hired a few people for the bits I couldn’t do – the heavy labour and the fiddly electrics and such. Took me a long time,’ she added, ‘but that was by the by. Time was no matter. I just wanted her back. Whole. Alive again. You know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Had to report the accident, of course. They gave me a citation for carelessness, banned me from piloting for a twelvemonth. Fined me a little – not as much as they could have. They went easy on me, figured I’d learned my lesson. That was fine. I wasn’t going anywhere; was too busy rebuilding her.’

  Stars blurred outside the viewport. Time was short. She opened her mouth and let the words spill out. ‘And the rock?’

  Tsione shrugged. ‘It disintegrated on the way through. They labelled it a small F-spec asteroid in rogue orbit and marked it expired. I think the official designation was MF-twelve-something. It won’t be bothering us now, anyway.’

  The ship rocked. Rerenga turned her gaze to the frozen time stamp. ‘MF-twelve-thirty-six?’

  ‘Might have been. Why?’ Tsione followed her gaze. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh,’ Rerenga echoed, the word little more than an exhalation of breath. ‘I remember.’

  ‘You – What? You remember? Remember what?’

  Rerenga curled against the console, shaking, hands clenched, fingers digging into palms, as the memory flooded her. ‘Everything.’

  She remembered flying this route. Too fast, too hard. Being driven on by the thundering will of the captain – Tsione. Remembered the asteroid. Blaring a warning. Too late. Remembered the pain, wave upon wave of screaming agony as she was torn apart and scattered to the winds.

  Remembered the terrifying black of losing herself.

  Where was she?

  Part of her remembered being gathered, piece by excruciating piece, from the depths as she slept. Being thrown in the cargo hold, a ragged jumble of gears and panels and levers and the trailing strips of that old blanket Tsione had always hated. Remembered Miranda, where her body was put together again.

  Who was she?

  She had wandered long in the black
, she knew that.

  And then Tsione had come this way again, had gathered her courage and decided it was time to try again. She wouldn’t let the fear hold her back.

  And Zuflucht had come this way with her, to find out who she was and how she came to be.

  She hadn’t known, and so the little girl in the locker hadn’t known either.

  And the knowledge had come, slowly, but now she knew.

  She smiled.

  ‘What is it?’ Tsione asked.

  ‘I know who I am.’

  The stars outside were slowing their mad wheeling.

  ‘Who are you, then?’

  The boat rolled and came upright.

  ‘I’m the ship.’

  The cabin lights came on. The instrument panel lit up. The engines roared to life.

  ‘I’m the ship,’ she said again, and giggled. The engines giggled with her, vibrations spreading through her feet.

  Tsione stared.

  ‘Or maybe the ship is me,’ she added. ‘I’m not sure. The delineation is a bit … well. I don’t know if there is a delineation.’

  Tsione’s gun lowered. She dropped heavily into the pilot’s chair. ‘You’re the boat,’ she said.

  The engines sang beneath them. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re talking.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going mad.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  Tsione took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to hurt me?’

  She snorted. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tsione paused. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have a name,’ she said. ‘You named me.’

  ‘Starstriker?’

  Rerenga shuddered.

  Tsione shook her head. ‘No. I know.’ She smiled. ‘Rerenga. What does it mean?’

  Rerenga nodded. ‘Refuge. And flight.’ Her smile wavered and fell. She could feel the pull already.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I have to go.’ The ship wanted her back. She couldn’t stay here; she didn’t belong in one piece in the cabin; mortal, stationary, flesh and blood.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have to go,’ she repeated, fighting tears. She wanted to stay, to talk to this woman who had destroyed her and then loved her enough to rebuild her with her bare hands; but she had to go. She belonged in the ship, in the oil racing through the engines, in the lights flickering overhead, in the metal floor panels and the console levers.