Their circuit ended in silence at the hangar deck. The rykers that had been out on the staging dock earlier were in docking service, meaning that they’d been flown and returned.
Crave split left, retreating from Thwip. “I’m heading up to Leo. Oh-lab?”
“Yeah.”
Crave muted him. A different engineer was on duty at the hangar deck, and Crave stopped to hear her shift report. Thwip watched him, trying to stand as steadily as he did in trepid, then walked to the V-0 to finish out the shift in the lab. On its way toward Leo’s position on the command deck, the path of Crave’s position marker diverted toward the PT-med module. Thwip pulsed his IF to see crew location tags. Kazi was still in the PT-med module in recovery. A minute later Crave joined her. On his IF Thwip saw Crave’s muted mouth move as he exchanged brief words with Kazi and the on-duty medica. Crave then continued to the command deck.
Thwip tried to reconcile the faceless Nova who’d watched a target thrash and die in space when he could have easily have taken him alive with Crave, the officer who’d risked himself to protect one of the lowest-ranking, nonessential crew members on the Vesper.
Crave’s face disappeared to private mode. Reaching the V-0’s lab, Thwip stood in the middle, alone in the loop.
This was the best day of my life.
He ran his hand over his hardhood and looked around at the empty lab, paced its length twice, flexing his hands, and then, instead of accessing the fractal trepid’s container as usual, exited the V-0 and walked down to the weapons deck.
Charis must have had a notice on Thwip’s position marker approaching; she was already looking up from where she leaned over a flat arc when he entered. She resumed their connection, appearing on his IF. Thwip stopped at the bottom of the ramp just inside the entry, taking a moment to realize why he’d come.
“Will you shoot with me?”
She stood full height. “Anytime.”
They ran through a few rounds in the WD’s sim space, and then, while they A-STATed loose weaponry, she asked in passing how his shadowing had gone. He showed her his SOCs from Crave’s intervention in the accident that had almost ghosted Kazi. Charis’ eyebrows pinched low with frustration so they almost touched. “He shouldn’t have done that, he might have been crushed. He risked the mission.” But she smiled admiringly as she said it.
The next day marked a turning point: thereafter Thwip’s shifts were increasingly devoted to mission prep, and the unit was usually together except for when one of them was off-shift on wake duty. Thwip rotated in more easily than he’d expected. He’d arrived with the Nova skill set; he simply needed to learn to do what he already knew how to do in trepid and with his unit team. Learning the mission also meant learning the unit’s personal dynamics, which proved tricky without the full context of previous missions. Starting at the beginning, he’d only had time to review their first three outings. Although the mission intel came in text data-log format and technically wasn’t redacted, the chatter voice procedure was sparse and the call names omitted, so he had to guess who was speaking in logs or achieving an action as described. He looked for clues about Serpents, but without the benefit of call names, found no leads. If it weren’t for the occasional line that sounded unique to Charis’ or Wheck’s stronger personalities, it might have been the mission history of any Nova unit. The handler who prepared the records and whose voice coached through during missions was not Leo. The management style was more fluid and vocal, and the unit referred to her as “she.”
Wake, shoot, analyze, drill, drill, drill, analyze, reform, improve, repeat, repeat, repeat… active duty was an exciting blur of hands-on challenges, incredible people, refined skills, secret intel and new ideas. Days slipped into months.
On Thwip’s 130th day aboard the Vesper, Skregs had to disrupt his wake duty schedule for a mission briefing later in the rest of the unit’s standard shift, so Wheck made use of it by scheduling a complete unit flight session for the first time. On the hangar deck’s combat dock their five ryker fighters were set for launch. The bottom hatches were already pulsed open and prepped by dock crew. The unit climbed up into their individual rykers, took their seats, and sealed in. Once they’d launched into space and put enough black between their formation and the Vesper, Wheck pulsed Thwip formation guidelines and triggered a unit count-up. Around Wheck’s lead Crave formed up on right. Charis and Skregs dropped back to rear guard.
“Are we headed out no-support?” Thwip asked.
“Affirmative. This is an NS trip,” Wheck said. “NSDS.”
No support and deep space? “I didn’t receive specs on today’s exercise.”
“While we were sleeping, the Vesper crossed the Aquila line. We’re officially in deep space. That warrants a special flight. Wing up my left and tack on.”
Thwip aligned his ryker. Why aren’t they telling me anything?
Wheck pulsed chatter again. “All unit confirmation that brainbuckets are golden. We’ll be in the glorious black all day with no support.”
The unit all auraled in as golden on hoods and gear.
Wheck’s count-up locked, the unit manually pulsed the dark-e punch hashes on their rykers in unison. The ryker accelerated—the surrounding starfield blinked out and there was nothing but darkness. Thwip’s scans shifted, showing huge jumps in position and readings, but he didn’t feel he had moved at all, as if he were a rock parting a stream and space was moving around him, instead of him moving through space.
He glanced up at the loop. Wheck looked like Charis when she was shooting: hyperfocused, as if nothing existed outside the task at hand. Thwip shifted through his mission data, failing to find details relevant to their position and direction. Three hours in, they were flying mostly silent, no chatter, just reading one another’s tells and cues. A different kind of conversation.
It was another thirty minutes before Wheck spoke, breaking the silence. “Unit be advised: thirteen minutes to hover positions, prepare to punch out. Thwip, reduce your external scans down to basic visual. We’ll guide you the rest of the way.”
He felt another thrill of adrenaline as he made the requested change. I won’t be able to see much of anything. “Copy that. Scanning on basic visual only.” His chem balancers slid slightly. They pulsed their dark-e punches, dropped out of interstellar speed. A bright star that was relatively close washed out Thwip’s visual readings. With his hood set to basic he didn’t receive its name or other data, and couldn’t filter through its light.
“Wheck to unit, I read location as clear of threats. Suggest we may exit craft. Requesting a two-firm.”
We’re space walking?
“Confirmed,” Crave said, “also reading clear.”
“Copy that. Set your ships to anchor hover, a kilometer of breathing room between vessels. Mark in a circle off my position and orientation. Thwip, follow me.”
They achieved Wheck’s hover positions, a circular formation with enough black between crafts to leave the rykers without fear of them colliding. Since he was data blind, Thwip followed Wheck’s guidance and let his basic scans roll out to grab what minimal readings they could. They were so far from humanity and infrastructure that, without the usual number of object IDs, his IF felt blank. Except stellar radiation and vague readings of invisible gas and dust, there was nothing. The visual quiet was unsettling.
At least I have internal data.
Thwip adjusted the mechs on his tether to his ryker. If anything went wrong, he could control its emergency functions remotely. It was a heavy amount of data that only top-caliber hoods like trepid could manage in addition to other functionality. Specialized pilot hardhoods, which were worn with arrow suits, could control their craft in the same manner, but lacked the greater flexibility and broad high-clearance access of Nova tech.
Maybe I’ll get a chance to try the remote mechs today.
A verbal “Ship secure” went around the unit. Thwip confirmed his position last of the group and then pulsed the ryker to external
transfer mode. The four hatches below his seat in his ryker pulse-released in succession, and he climbed down and out of the ship, drifting alongside it in space with his right hand on its side.
“Wheck to unit, advance to point center of our positions. Thwip, push off your current location thirty degrees and nav straight ahead to meet us and maintain current orientation. Set your mask to transparent.”
“Copy that.” Thwip made the hood adjustment and pushed off his ryker. They met in the middle of the circle and matched Wheck’s body orientation, hanging three meters apart in a pentagon.
The rest of the unit broke the loop and set their hood masks to transparent.
What’s going on?
The four pulsed their neck lights on in unison. Thwip followed suit. He could see their illuminated faces without a scan. This morning they were all as unreadable as Crave.
“All Novas come here for their oaths,” said Crave. “All Novas before, and all Novas after.”
“All Novas before, and all Novas after,” Charis, Skregs, and Wheck repeated together.
Crave nodded to him, and Thwip repeated the line.
“The core of the Nova ethos is eternal honor.”
Thwip repeated the line, but Charis, Skregs, and Wheck remained silent. Crave nodded to him.
“I understand that my fellow United Nativity Planets citizens expect me to be mentally stronger than our enemies and generous with my leadership and expertise in all situations. By wearing trepid, I accept this responsibility and rise to its challenges.”
Crave paused between each line so Thwip could repeat it.
“I expect to go where other citizens fear to go. I expect to confront the mysteries of the universe and to sail the bleeding edges of discovery. I expect danger, and I expect to use my superior technical expertise and mindfulness to conquer danger. Beyond expectation, I will desire these things so as to be ready for them. My execution on orders will be swift. My enemies will be neutralized and my objectives will be fulfilled. My use of violence, represented by the rose, will be restrained by wisdom, represented by the laurel. I will protect my unit, my Nativity, and humanity with all available resources, including my body, my blood, and my sacrifice. The symbol on my hardhood represents the individualism that I will contribute to my unit to make a stronger whole. With my word as my bond, I arrive at the river as one of five Novas seeking to depart as one perfect unit.” Thwip repeated the last line, and his body map lit as each member of the unit put out a hand to him, tipped him, and guided him so he lay as if on a table in front of them, face up in the center of their circle.
“My loyalty is everlasting, across time and beyond death. I will never betray a Nova. I will never betray my Nativity. I will never be out of the fight.”
Thwip folded his hands on his chest and repeated: “My loyalty is everlasting, across time and beyond death. I will never betray a Nova. I will never betray my Nativity. I will never be out of the fight.”
“Nova secrecy is perfect. Nova security is perfect. Nova trust is perfect.”
“Nova secrecy is perfect. Nova security is perfect. Nova trust is perfect.”
Charis placed a hand on the neck of Thwip’s suit. He felt another a thrill of adrenaline. “Nova trust is perfect,” she said.
“Nova trust is perfect,” Thwip repeated, and she executed the combination to unseal one of the three exterior safety latches on his hardhood.
“Nova trust is perfect,” Wheck said.
“Nova trust is perfect.” Thwip repeated, pushing panic aside as Wheck unsealed another latch on his hardhood. His IF orange-framed, warning him that he couldn’t remove his hood in space—
“Nova trust is perfect,” Skregs said.
“Nova trust is perfect.”
Skregs unsealed the last latch on his hardhood, and it began to issue environmental warnings across his IF.
“Nova trust is perfect,” Crave said.
Thwip’s chem balancers rocked. “Nova trust is perfect.”
Crave overrode Thwip’s system warnings, removed Thwip’s hardhood. Exhale. Open your eyes. Shit. I’m dying. My hood! Get my hood! He yelled, but no sound came out. His chest felt compressed and full but empty, his face cold and his eyes hot—
Blindness. A burst of distant stars beyond fuzzy, fluxing rainbows. He twitched a finger and read his body map and chem balancers, blinking furiously. His hardhood had been replaced. The unit wasn’t visible on his IF, but he could tell from their body positions around him that they were all scanning him.
“Status?” Wheck asked.
“Status?” Thwip coughed. “Cosmos fuck! I’ve been spaced!”
Charis smiled, leaning over him to see his face through his transparent mask. “He’s golden.” She rapped him twice—they all did—and his body map lit in faint pricks of affectionate light.
“Unit be advised,” he sputtered between coughs. “You are some cosmos fucking chicken crackers motherfuckers—what the fuck happened to consent!” A mix of short guffaws, including his. He coughed again, and his vision clarified. “Fuck!”
“Reinitiate your full external scanning.” Charis pressed down on Thwip’s shoulder and rolled him prone at the same time his full scans splashed across his IF. He gasped…
An interstellar cloud of gas, plasma, and dust bloomed in gorgeous plumes of light. His hood hashed his position in the cosmos: LETHE RIVER NEBULA. The contrast of the nearby star had washed the nebula out on basic scan, but now his hood compensated, and Thwip adjusted his master composite to reveal the nebula’s full glory: a river of light in violet and pink hues, with sparkles of stars peeking through. His eyes stung, and his chem balancers edged. It’s like looking into the heart of the universe.
Charis looked reverent, and Skregs, grinning, mumbled about nostalgia. Streaks of purple reflected on Wheck’s hardhood face.
Thwip watched Crave, whose stillness was a touchstone. He spoke. “All Novas come here for their oaths. All Novas before, and all Novas after.”
Skregs began to repeat the words, and they tipped him on his back as they had Thwip, and formed a circle around him.
“What’s happening now?” Thwip asked, coughing again. His lungs felt sore.
Charis sent him a text reply. THE NOVA OATH IS TAKEN BY THE FULL UNIT, TOGETHER. ONCE A UNIT FIRST CROSSES THE AQUILA LINE ON A MISSION, THEY COVERTLY COME HERE. WE’VE TAKEN IT BEFORE, BUT NOT WITH YOU.
One by one they all retook their oath: Skregs, then Crave, then Wheck, and Charis last. When she regained consciousness from her spacing, she exhaled slowly, taking in the nebula glassy-eyed, hands pressed to her heart.
Crave rapped Charis twice on her shoulder, and she rolled backward, folding over his shoulder, then pushed off his back into a back flip that sent both of them drifting. They maneuvered their suits, trepid joyriding through space. Crave lay out with his hands behind his head, as though on a raft, watching the nebula as a surreal sky. Thwip mimed swimming past him, something he hadn’t dare done during elite space school despite the temptation. He raced Skregs, and then they all raced—his IF reading nitrogen, molecular hydrogen, atomic helium, formaldehyde. He pushed his hood’s scan information to the wings so that he could just move and look, watching the Lethe’s cloud complex—dust sculpted by stellar winds, the birthplace of a thousand stars. Wheck showed him how to shift his external aurals to accept and emphasize the sounds of space, the mechanical emptiness of what sounded like static and wind, coupled with shrill birdlike chirps over low haunting waves that might have been the singing of distant whales.
It wasn’t necessary to touch to reform their loop, but the five formed a circle huddle that was more a group embrace and relinked their visuals. Four faces resumed their homes on Thwip’s IF. The five of them floated interlocked in space over the light and color of the nebula’s dramatic vista, together alone against the vastness of the universe.
There wasn’t much time to get back to the Vesper before the evening’s mission briefing, giving them an excuse to push thei
r rykers’ dark-e systems for the first quarter of the return, while they were still far enough into open space that it was safe to do so. Thwip finally got a sense of the full range of Sunway-independent speed possible in the ryker. When he glanced up through the loop, he saw that Crave and Wheck were navigating by naked flight physics, the same way that he viewed the back-end hashing on trepid, instead of relying on the ryker’s regular, simplified mechs to pilot. He tried it their way, couldn’t understand any of it, and quickly shifted back to the translated regular user mechs. They arrived at Vesper’s last known position, and from there, through a sequence of security swipes, Leo guided them to the new covert location the ship had reached while they were away.
To expedite docking, they split up between the Vesper’s three hangar entries. Thwip waited for his ryker’s hatches to release and disembarked as soon as his dock wait count had ended, dropping through the hatches to the hangar floor, handing his ship’s maintenance over to his landing crew and exiting the decontam bay into a flood of arrow suits, alive with the shared secrecy he’d experienced a few hours ago. It was the middle of a key shift changeover and most of the crew was on their way to task. He searched for his unit.
Thwip read Wheck’s position ahead with Charis and tracked them both past the crowds in the corridors. He turned the corner, exited the hangar—Charis and Wheck were ahead at the other end of the corridor. They must have been tracking him too because they turned and made their way toward him. Crowds of crew parted for them, heads dipped deferentially as they passed. Charis and Wheck paused a few times separately to exchange updates or greetings with certain crew members. Thwip realized that the same action occurred around him, crew parted, heads dipped.
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