What’s gone wrong?
The kinds of things you’d expect from people crammed into too little space and no way to shut a door on someone you don’t like. There have been thefts. Fights. The volunteer patrols are on it, but . . . it’s hard. And people are getting sick. Can’t sneeze in the cargo holds without hitting all your neighbors.
But the ship’s systems are stable?
. . . Sure.
That was a long pause you took there.
They’re stable. Nothing for the passengers to worry about. We’re safe.
I understand.
• • •
The Altair had been in transit for almost a week, and given that nobody had killed anyone else yet, Asala was starting to think the trip might go quietly. The general continued to run her daily security checks, and if that made her feel better, fine. Niko alternated between trying to sweep their outburst at dinner under the rug with a profound amount of sucking up, and hiding from the general in their room, where they were busy doing whatever a person did with computers. As for Asala, she was attempting, as best she could with the company, to spend her interplanetary flight the way she always spent interplanetary flights: sitting in her quarters and reading. She was failing at it, despite the comfortable lounge chair, despite the simulated candles she’d switched on, despite the little plate of pickled fruit and the refreshment tin she had at hand. She tried new books, old books, fresh ideas and familiar friends. Nothing stuck. She couldn’t concentrate, and when she found she’d read the same stanza three times over without properly processing it, she tossed her handheld aside and rubbed her face with her palms. She knew why she couldn’t read, and she was spitting mad over it.
Damn Ekrem, and damn his kid. Damn that photo they’d shoved in her face.
Asala knew why none of her books would stick. She was thinking about one particular set of books, one she desperately wanted and would never see again. The Wonders of Eramen, all six volumes. It was a used set, and had likely been bought cheap, but there was no collection in the galaxy more precious to Asala. She remembered the worn covers, the feel of the mock paper. Most of all, she remembered the inscription inside the first volume: To my little sister, on her birthday, with love from Dayo. The words sister and her were written in slightly different ink on neatly cut rectangles of glued paper, which Dayo had covered the original misnomers with a year or so after the gift had been given, after an important conversation had been had. Dayo hadn’t told Asala she’d altered the inscription. She’d just done it, leaving it for Asala to find on her own. Dayo had been like that, always performing quiet kindnesses without expectation of praise.
And yet Asala had abandoned her, and the books, and everyone else besides. It didn’t matter that she’d been a child, that larger hands and stronger wills had placed her on that ship. There’d been a time when she felt like they’d thrown her away, but no. No, she’d abandoned them. In both body and mind, she had.
She stood up and began to pace. Damn Ekrem, and damn his kid. This was a line of thinking she’d stopped beating herself with long ago, and had worked so hard to bury. And yet here she was, headed to Hypatia in search of ghosts.
She could be alive, a voice in her head whispered. She was alive ten years ago. She could be, still.
She tried to shove the thought aside, but Niko had planted it in fertile ground, and its roots had dug deep. The intensity of it frightened her. There was nothing more dangerous than hope.
If she’s alive, you have to try, the voice said. Even if it’s only a chance. You have to try. For her.
There was no arguing that.
She paced until her feet were tired, and after a few minutes of sitting back down, she realized the rest of her was tired too. She washed up, folded her clothes, and got into bed. She stared into the dark for a long time, indulging in old memories and letting the pain of them sit with her. Hypatia was going to hurt. Might was well get ready for that.
Her mind drifted, then quieted, then let her go altogether.
Her rest began softly, but it ended with a shriek—a metallic shriek pouring out of every speaker and straight into Asala’s brain, erasing the immediately forgotten dream she’d been lost in, preventing any waking thoughts from gaining legs. Both hands shot up to her ears, and she dialed her implants all the way down as quickly as she could. Silence reigned. Her mind regrouped. She took a breath, shook her head, looked around.
What the hell was going on?
She ran across the room to the ship systems panel. The panel was frozen. She tapped and she tapped. She slapped her palm against its frame. A flicker. Then nothing.
She threw on some clothes, and shoved her feet into her boots. Presumably, the sound was still blaring, but she left her implants off. She opened her door and almost ran into the general, who was shouting something. She had her gun drawn.
“I can’t hear you,” Asala said, pointing at her ears. “Speak slowly.”
I said, Cynwrig’s lips read, what the hell is going on?
“I don’t know.” Asala looked around, trying to assess whether they needed to head for an escape pod. Everything else about the ship seemed fine. She didn’t think they’d hit anything. She couldn’t smell anything burning, couldn’t feel any change in air pressure. “Is that sound still—”
Yes! The general looked furious.
Asala hurried to Niko’s quarters and opened the door without a knock. Niko sat on the floor, in the middle of their nest of computers and wires, a blanket wrapped around their head as they typed furiously. They were in a panic, and looked as if they, too, had been ripped out of bed. They said something as the other two entered the room, too harried for Asala to make it out. Sorry and fix were the only words she caught.
“What’s wrong?” Asala shouted. She had no idea how loud her voice needed to be to get over the shriek, so she went full bore. “Is there danger?”
Niko shook their head vigorously, continuing to type and babble. A minute, Asala caught, and later, shit.
After a moment, Niko and the general both sighed and slumped. Asala took that as a cue to turn her implants back on. She did so gingerly, dialing them up just a touch at first. The sound had stopped. She turned them back to full, and looked hard at Niko. “What was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” Cynwrig said.
“I mean—I do, I’m just—I’m not sure—” Niko looked bewildered, and the blanket dropped
