Brightly Burning

by Alexa Donne

  For my overdress, I chose one of the numerous black numbers, thumbing right past three alarmingly bright options of magenta, turquoise, and azure that I was sure I would never have occasion to wear. It took me a minute of turning my safe black choice over and inside out to figure out how it went on. On top, it was cut like a jacket, formfitting but not corseted. Once I slipped my arms through the sleeves, I had to pull the stiff panel of cloth across my chest to fasten it nearly under the other arm. Simple and not too fussy, just as I liked it. But then it had a flaring, mostly decorative skirt that jutted from my hips, accentuating my curves. I found it curious to wear a dress meant more for fashion than form, as there was only one set of pockets sewn between the bodice and the skirt lining. Then I pulled my hair into a bun and put on my comm piece, sitting on the edge of the bed and wondering how to kill time.

  My desktop tab caught my eye. Several new icons greeted me. Clicking on one, I found the Rochester ship schematic. Another showed me my teaching subject schedule for Jessa, with corresponding links to the required textbooks. A pop-up said they would be synced to my private reader tab, which I found after searching the desk’s drawers. On the Stalwart, we had shared readers preloaded with textbooks and a few children’s stories—​none of the great literature or history books I had come to love on my aunt’s ship. But this one was stocked with hundreds of fiction titles, not just textbooks, and it was mine. I held it tight to my chest and hugged it like an old friend.

  The message app on the desk tab blinked, and I found I had not one message, but three. All from George. Warmth flicked at my insides. I started with the oldest message first, the one he’d promised me in the shuttle bay that he’d go and write immediately upon my departure. It was brief and earnest, i.e., quintessential George.

  Hey, Stella—​

  You just shot off into space, and here I am writing to you, as promised. I’ll miss you, Stel, you can be sure of that. Don’t be a stranger, and, well . . . I’m sorry about the other night. I was a jerk.

  Fly safe,

  George

  The next message he transposed on behalf of my Ancient Earth Sciences class—​one line per pupil, so it was a tedious read, but one that made me smile. And then the third was from George again, worrying about my lack of reply. I fired off a quick missive letting him know that I was okay, briefly mentioning things like the lack of water rations, the smorgasbord for breakfast. The tiniest part of me maybe wanted him to feel a bit jealous, but then guilt burned in my gut and I deleted the unlimited-water-rations part, just to be nice. I sent it off and left my quarters with fifteen minutes to spare before breakfast.

  Within three days, I had the ship layout down pat. At least the parts I traversed most often. It was clear from the schematics that there was a lot more to the ship than I had seen, including a top level only accessible via a locked elevator by the bridge and a staircase with a NO ENTRY sign taped beside it. When I asked Xiao about it, she calmly explained that the captain preferred we keep out of certain spaces while he was away, and much of the upper and lower decks consisted merely of cold storage, nothing to concern myself about. When I asked Rori about this so-called storage, because of course I regularly conversed with her now, she intoned that I was not authorized to access such information.

  Quickly we fell into a comfortable routine and rapport. I shared breakfast with Xiao, often but not always interrupted by a nonverbal Lieutenant Poole lumbering in and absconding with enough food to feed three, then spent my day teaching Jessa, and afterward ate dinner with the whole crew. The mysterious Mari never appeared, and when I asked Xiao about her, she waved me off.

  “Officer Hanada likes to keep to herself. Why do you ask?” Her voice edged up in pitch just slightly.

  “I’m just surprised I haven’t met her yet. And I guess I’m curious what she does all day, when no one needs medical care.”

  “That is neither here nor there. It’s not my job to police Officer Hanada’s time, nor is it yours.” Xiao pursed her lips and looked me over. Then she seemed to soften. “You’re new, so I understand the questions, but there’s a hierarchy of both command and information on board. It’s best to just accept things for how they are and focus on your job.” Xiao offered a smile and patted me on the shoulder. “We’re very glad you’re here, and I for one hope you stay for quite some time.”

  I was left with more questions, not fewer, but her parting words had seemed genuine. No one on board wanted to answer my questions, but at least I had George as a sounding board. We wrote to each other every day.

  Dear Stella,

  It is a bit odd that you haven’t seen this woman, and I agree that she can’t possibly have that much medical work with such a small crew on board, but I doubt it’s a conspiracy. She’s probably just a loner, a lot like someone I know who shall remain nameless.

  Or, here’s a thought: maybe she’s the captain’s mistress? Would explain why she’s off by herself and they don’t want you to ask about her.

  You’ve stepped into some real drama, Stel . . . maybe you should come home? Joking. Or am I?

  Cheers,

  George

  Dear George,

  Not funny. I’m sticking it out here. I finally get to do something I love, and I’ve mentioned all the perks, right? The food alone is worth putting up with loner mistresses and mysterious cargo. I just can’t imagine what they would need to keep in cargo on a tiny private ship all the way out here by the moon.

  Let me know what the next movie night is. I can see if Jessa has it and watch it out here. It’ll be like I never left! Now I must go shower. Another reason I’m staying here. (Don’t hate me.)

  Best,

  Stella

  I was far too keyed up to sleep, so I pulled out my reader, opened my wall-length window for the view, and settled down with Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Hours later, and Darcy had written Elizabeth a love letter, but she was having none of it, and then Lydia went and made a mess of things. My eyes drooped, and I mumbled for the lights to go out. I drifted, sleepy, blinking slowly, trying to hold the stars in my sights.

  With a jolt, I was awake. Laughter, in the corridor again. I sat bolt upright in the dark, clutching my sheets, like they would protect me. I listened. There was something outside my door. With my breath held tight, I crept out of bed, across to the door, until my ear lay flush against the metal. All I heard was a mechanical hum, the hollow sound of air moving through machinery. Then scritch, scritch, scritch. I wasn’t crazy—​there was someone outside my door. My heart pounded in my chest. Cats. It had to be cats, right? Wasn’t that what Xiao said?

  Nothing to worry about. That’s what they always said. So no harm in checking.

  I waited. Counted to ten. Then I opened the door.

  Chapter Seven

  Large amber eyes glinted in the dark of the corridor. They were round; definitely not human. I blew out a long, low breath. Cat.

  It slunk out from the shadows, revealing itself to be the largest cat I had ever seen, body and tail stretching almost as far as my arm span. He was black all over, except for a pink nose and those amber eyes, his fur copious and, I imagined, soft. He mewled, requesting an invitation, which I granted. I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else out there, someone watching, so I let my new feline friend inside and closed the door quickly behind him.

  “Lights on; dim,” I requested, and they turned on in time for me to witness the cat settle himself at the foot of my bed. “What should I call you?” I pondered, scratching under his chin, eliciting a loud, guttural purr. Then he yawned, and as if it were contagious, I did too. “Well, I’ll figure it out in the morning,” I said with a shrug, getting back into bed. The cat resettled himself against my feet, and I commanded the lights off, willing myself to forget the shrill sound in the corridor. The one I was sure had been a human laugh.

  I dreamed of the stars. I was swimming in them, on my back, doing a backstroke through black and gold. There was no sound, no ai
r, and yet somehow I was breathing. Laughing, though I could not hear my own voice. I flipped onto my stomach, revealing the moon before me, the Rochester flanking her left side. The ship was a beauty, sleek and silver, her nose full of windows and her arms flung back behind her like folded wings. She flared, something bright sparking in her aft end, and with a panic, I realized she was leaving me. “No!” I screamed, but no sound left my lips. The universe echoed my panic, my fast-beating heart, Klaxons blaring in time with my breath. As the Rochester kicked away from me, the sirens sounded on, and all I could think was Why can I hear them out in the vacuum of space?

  And then I woke up and realized the sirens were real. As soon as I opened my eyes and sat up, they stopped.

  “Stella, I am sorry to disturb you, but you have an urgent call on comms.” Rori’s voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. It was strange hearing her outside my shower or my earpiece. I retrieved my comms from my bedside table and put it on, immediately receiving a page from Officer Xiao.

  “Stella, I apologize for the early hour, but you are urgently needed,” she said while I checked the time—​it was just past six a.m. “There’s an issue in the airlock in the shuttle bay, and I need you to repair it as soon as possible. We’re expecting the captain today, so it must be fixed immediately.”

  “What about Lieutenant Poole?” I asked, though I’d already hopped out of bed and started pulling on my underdress.

  “Tied up in equally urgent matters, I’m afraid,” she answered. “You’ll find all the tools you need, as well as a spacesuit in the room next to the loading deck. Your bio scan will open it.”

  “And Jessa’s lessons?” I selected the outfit clearly meant for engineering work—​a simple black frock with no flouncy skirts but plenty of pockets.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have breakfast brought to you at half past seven.”

  I retraced my steps from a vague memory of a week ago, until the familiar sight of the transport bay bloomed into view, doors fitted with triple-reinforced glass giving me a view into the now-empty airlock beyond. Nothing looked out of place, but a glaring red light above the door separating the inner and outer bays—​the outer one being where the airlock was essential—​confirmed Xiao’s report. Alert, alert, danger, danger.

  A wave of cold washed down my back as a memory popped into my mind. Another airlock, a different ship, my cousin Charles threatening to lock me inside so I’d be vented out into space when the next cargo ship came along. I swore I heard his cruel laugh behind me; I whipped around, expecting to see him and his friends, who followed him like lemmings around the Empire all those years ago. But I was alone. I hadn’t seen Charles in seven years, and no one here would throw me in an airlock to die. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, reminding myself I was safe now. But the captain wouldn’t be if he arrived before I fixed whatever was causing the alarm.

  To the right of the transport bay, I found the maintenance hold Xiao mentioned, where there was a spacesuit of my approximate proportions and a kit of tools. The suit was stiff and unforgiving, with a detachable helmet unit that would make it airtight. I climbed into the body of the suit, hauling a zipper attached to an extended wire over my shoulder and pulling with all my might. Eventually sealed up tight, I breathed in cycled air and fidgeted with thick, gloved fingers for my toolkit. I trudged with heavy steps to the holding bay, slapped open the doors and stepped inside. Engulfed by the muffled yet still earsplittingly loud alarm, I flipped open an electrical panel in the wall and silenced the wail. I needed to be able to concentrate.

  A tab unit next to the panel gave me the diagnostic picture that I needed. Separate oxygen and nitrogen units supplied the airlock with breathable air, normally cycled together in perfect proportion. The oxygen unit was malfunctioning. The holding bay was pure nitrogen. Any ship that tried to dock would read a proper pressure seal—​and “air” present—​but it wasn’t breathable. Not by humans.

  A diagram and blinking red diagnostic lights showed me where the tanks were inside the landing bay. I grabbed the tab from the wall, and even though I was sealed into my suit, I paused before the door. How old was this suit? One leak and I’d drop like a stone, suffocating to death. When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I keyed in an override code and pushed the button releasing the door.

  I followed the blinking red light on the tab, making slow, clumsy progress to the right, where I found the sleek panel that hid the massive tanks. The problem was immediately apparent once I’d unscrewed the offending panel. Someone had wrested a bundle of wires out of their proper sockets, disconnecting the oxygen tank from the ship’s system. I frowned, talking to no one. “It’s like someone reached in and yanked as hard as they could. . . .”

  I estimated it would take at least a few hours, maybe more, to fix it. It wasn’t as simple as reslotting the wires​—​I needed to go in deep, where essentially connections were now loose and severed, and possibly redo the wiring from scratch.

  Breakfast came and went. Albert delivered into the outer bay a tray with tea, toast, and soy patties, which I took a short break to cram into my mouth. Back out I went, belly sloshing with tea, but with a bit more energy. After another hour, I had sorted the worst of the problem, it seemed, though when I tested the system, the light persistently flashed red.

  I hailed Xiao again on comms. “Officer Xiao, I’m having trouble getting the oxygen back online. Is there any way Lieutenant Poole might be free now? I could use a second opinion.”

  “Lieutenant Poole is still indisposed, Miss Ainsley. Just do the best you can, and I will have her report to the landing bay as soon as possible.”

  Her answer did nothing to settle my nerves. Who knew how long it would be until Lieutenant Poole would come? I had a thought.

  “Rori, are you in here too?” I asked, taking a gamble.

  “Yes, Stella, I am everywhere.”

  Putting aside the fact that Rori’s seeming omnipresence was a bit creepy, I felt relief. “Rori, is there any information on the air filtration for the loading bay that you might be able to send to my diagnostic tab? I think I need to do a bit of secondary reading.”

  “Of course, Stella. Please give me a moment.”

  True to her promise, Rori complied a moment later with a ping to the tab, and I retreated to the corner to read, starting with a schematic overview, then moving on to a detailed troubleshooting manual. I became so engrossed, my head filling with ideas that would hopefully solve this problem, that I didn’t notice the outermost hatch door opening.

  A small ship cruised inside, making a smooth, practiced landing. Everything went as it should: the ship docked; the outside hatch door closed behind it. I grabbed the tab and confirmed it one more time for good measure: there was no oxygen. If the people in that ship stepped out sans protective gear, they could die.

  I screamed from my helmet, “Stop! Do not get out!” Then I realized there was no way they could hear me, and I couldn’t take off my gear so that they could hear me—​I’d choke and suffocate as quickly as I could shout. “Rori!” I yelled. “Can you connect me to that ship’s comms? We have to warn them.”

  “His network comms are turned off, Stella. I can announce the issue once he steps off the spacecraft.”

  “He’ll be gasping for air before he hears you,” I said, trying to think of a secondary solution. If I couldn’t stop the passenger from getting off the ship, then I had to save him. I moved to the other side of the craft just as the doors slung open and a lanky figure stepped out. Not wearing protective gear, as I feared. I had only a few seconds. I darted a glance at the door connecting us to the outer bay and the passenger, and cast another down at my heavy suit, which made me slow. I would have to push with all my might and hope for the best.

  Each step was like sinking through a stew. I counted the seconds in my head. Five, six, seven—​he’d surely tried breathing by now. He could; he would even think everything was completely normal, until his lungs burned and
everything went black.

  Ten, eleven, twelve—​I rounded the corner of the craft and found him on his side, still as death. My suit was like lead, weighing my limbs and slowing my steps. I grabbed him by both arms and dragged him to the door. It took all of fifteen, twenty seconds but felt like five minutes, me drag-shuffling him, throwing my left shoulder against the hatch button, waiting for it to open. And then it didn’t.

  Frex! The stupid override command via the tab. There was no time for it! “Rori! Let us in!” And bless her, Rori ignored every single protocol there was and did it. I dragged the man’s heavy, near-lifeless body into the next room, the door sliding shut behind us. “How are the oxygen levels in here?” I asked.

  “Oxygen is good, Stella,” Rori said, as calm as ever.

  I wrenched off my helmet and zipped out of the cumbersome suit so I could attend to the man, who was barely breathing. I started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation—​which thankfully they’d taught all the teachers aboard the Stalwart—​forcing oxygen back into his lungs.

  “Please don’t be dead. . . .”

  I breathed into his mouth, pumped his chest, repeated. I checked his pulse—​it was thready but present. Then, suddenly, he gasped. Coughed.

  He sat up, searching my face, blinking at the unfamiliarity. I found myself taken aback, really looking at him now that the panic had dissipated. He was young, close to my age, with strong features you might call handsome.

  “Buy me a drink first, at least.” He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, as if I’d just bestowed upon him an unwanted kiss.

  “Excuse me?” I stammered, heat from my cheeks spreading like wildfire throughout my body. “I was trying to resuscitate you. You nearly died.”

  He squinted at me. “And who exactly are you?”

  “I’m Stella Ainsley, sir,” I answered. “The new governess.”