The guide didn't pull on me. She did nothing but stand close. I felt a pang of loss that she had to deal with this. I'd like to have met her elsewhere, on solid ground. Her touch felt maternal now, impersonal, and my heart rebelled. Just once. Just once.
The ramp vibrated, is what it was. Could almost feel it swaying -- or was that me --
It wasn't moving. I knew it wouldn't. My feet had stopped, and I made them start again.
Concentrate on her hand. Nice and warm. I hated this floating feeling, already. Felt bad enough here, how would I stand it up there --
They don't float in shuttles now, I lectured myself. Not for fifty years. This is nothing but a giant aircar and you're going to be fine. Walk onto it and sit down.
She held me tight with one arm, still making it look casual. I suppose they'd seen my name, skipped the trainees, sent someone who understood. Still wouldn't be enough. I took another few steps, for her, for the warmth those fingers held. Damn, I wish I'd asked her name --
(It's Satri,) she replied.
(I'm Jessyn.)
(I know. Keep trying.)
One more step, then another. Just black boots on a grey carpet. I could stare straight down and just do this. Don't need to see. She held my hand. Maybe this time --
Cold air wafted down the ramp towards us, and my feet simply stopped obeying. Cold, cold air, smelling of underground, of nothingness. This wasn't natural. No one should do this.
Up ahead. It was a black circle in front of me. It seemed I didn't exist anymore, and the endless tunnel shifted slightly as I stared, revealing entropy. I'd fall forever.
I felt my back go up against the wall of the ramp as my knees buckled. The guide knelt when I did, her arm strong about my waist. She made me look away from the awful hole. There. Now it couldn't reach me. A ship's door, that's all it had ever been. Linked to the port with a pressurisation passage, standard everywhere in the galaxy. If I shut my eyes, I could call up diagrams, break it down as I had studied them in university. But closing my eyes would bring the dizzy sickness. Satri's face seemed to grow distant down a tunnel of its own, even as her hands gripped my shoulders. The air flowing down the ramp towards us froze my nerves and made my sweat icy.
But I was a pilot now, or at least pretending to be one. No longer a university kid. I had to act the part. Brown eyes, deep brown, grounded and sane, looked into mine. Sad for me. For a moment she didn't seem to know what to say. It burned in me, that ancient sickening frustration. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just push myself through this?
After a moment, she murmured, "No need to get up if you're not ready yet. This is the last launch through this gate til moonrise."
Something about the way she said it made me turn slowly away, still wary of the frightful spinning. Turn towards the window and stare blankly out of it. Moonrise. And I'd have been on it.
Satri kissed my hand, a weak consolation. At some point, she gently stood up and left. She had to. She was gone up the ramp, into the dark. I leaned against the wall of the passage, as some random port attendant laid a blanket over my shoulders. The round metal door of the ship clanked shut, and the far end of the tunnel spiralled closed. The horrid vibration beneath my body lessened as the ship rolled away.
The hours between this golden afternoon light, and the darkness that held Roxi's bright shine, could have seen me climbing up there like a speck of stardust, peering back down at the world that had launched me.
At least the cold was gone. And I had this record. Future me could make sense of it. For now, I counted my breaths, and let my heart melt into that same tired pain.
Jasha was in the central port bar already, sipping at a shot glass, when I made my way there. I could tell by the wrinkles in his white linen shirt, and the tired curve of his broad back, that whoever had called my older brother had brought him straight from the lab. It made me feel loved, and a bit guilty, and in need of a glass in my own hand.
(Whatever you've got,) I said, before he could ask. I slid up onto the stool beside him. In front of us was the circular stone bar, around the multi-tiered central dispenser. He tapped the scanner inlaid on the bar. A light went off on a blue bottle at the very top, and a little glass appeared beneath it to be filled. As it curved slowly down the vintage ramp, I sighed theatrically.
"What number are we at now?" Jas asked.
"Drinks?" I said. "Or failures?"
He didn't answer.
My little glass reached the bar's surface. I picked it up, peered into it. The sullen glitter flashed in the bar's low light. Then I said softly, "Twelve."
Jas let out a breath. "You push too hard."
"It's the first time in a year. Thought it might be different." The words hurt my throat. I sipped the glass as gingerly as he had. "What the hell is this?"
"It's called huyó. From Arbella."
"It's amazing." The candied-pepper taste of it burned the rest of the cold from my chest. I got a bit more of it into me. (I have to keep trying.)
(I know.) Jasha looked pensively into his drink, then finished it abruptly. The sun angling in from the skylights picked out highlights his auburn hair. He pushed a bit of it out of his eyes. (It's a common problem, Jess. I don't care what he said.)
I studied the backlit stacks of bottles. He of course being my ex, far away past Roxi at this point.
"Bad topic," I said.
He shrugged, but let it go. "Do you really want to leave Daltia? Is that the reason?"
"You don't know the reason? I thought everyone did." I laughed, but then bit the inside of my cheek. I'd heard the wariness in his question. I knew he was casting back through the consolations he'd offered on other such occasions, and I wished I could tell him that I wasn't as bitter as I sounded, not anymore. That I was already oddly calm. But that fact scared me, so I said nothing.
Finally he asked, "Did you pick up your parts, at least?"
I patted a box on the stool next to me. "Much fucking good they'll do."
"Don't be like that."
He was right. At the very least, it would be a beautiful sculpture, even if it went nowhere.
Life had once flowed better for me, despite this perpetual issue. I was growing tired of my own anger. Why rebuke myself about this? It would end, or it wouldn't.
I thought of the dark grey shuttle, how it would be docking in the moon's silence by now, and resisted the urge to glance up at the skylight. I swallowed the rest of my drink and pushed the glass away with a finger. "You want another? It's on me."
"Sure. One more."
They'd learned not to charge me for tickets. I'd learned not to argue.
I could see, in the mirrored backdrop of the gaudy bar dispenser, crowds of tourists slowly beginning to fill the room behind us. Their clothes were colourful, like mine, and their complexions were all different shades -- some dark like me, some pale as Jasha. So many excited accents. Most spoke Versal, but I could also hear the flattened Linear of foreign words being translated in my mind. Beautiful people stopping by for one last drink before ending their vacation, or beginning it. And lucky me, I'd be stuck here forever.
Jas reached over and stilled my tapping fingers with a hand on my wrist. "No, really," he said. "Why do you do it?"
"I'm sick of my common problems," I shot back.
He grinned at that and released my wrist. Our drinks slid onto the bar in front of us, and he picked one up and handed it to me. "Good thing you don't have many," he said.
I held the little glass up, and he tapped it with his. The second one burned more, was even sweeter.
The noise of the travellers rose slowly to a steady hum. I wondered where they were going. Where they'd come from. I wondered how the bars on Roxi would have sounded, whether they were gritty, or flawless, or both. What would it have been like to call Jasha from under the buttressed dome of the moon city, as he'd once done to me? Instead, we sat quietly at this familiar stone bar top. Reflected in the smudged mirror, two tired men, thoughtful against the shifting press of tourists.
I could have sat there until nightfall, drinking that tasty stuff and trying to convince myself that I had a plan. But Jas didn't like crowds, and I felt like being kind. (You ready to go?) I asked, and he nodded.
I tipped the glass, let the last drops burn on my tongue. Then stood up from the barstool, taking a second to make sure my feet were steady before I picked up my box. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I gave him a quick hug. "Just once, I'd like to surprise you," I said quietly. "You know. With something good."
"You will."
I put on my sunglasses before we reached the exit doors of the spaceport. The Daltian sunlight was fierce. And I'd seen Satri's eyes, and Jasha's, when they looked at me. I didn't want anyone to see the expression in mine.
Several ordinary days passed, out at my foster-father's house on Damor's south coast.
I'd wake, dress and eat, ignore the package I'd brought back, and spend my days either helping with chores or lazing on the nearby beach. This too was part of the cycle.
I didn't watch the record I'd made.
One morning I awakened, and the memory of disappointment felt insubstantial. The problem was me -- I still knew it -- but perhaps it wasn't some indelible quality. Perhaps it was just a thought somewhere, a bias. Those ruined the outcome of any experiment. I recognised this attitude from other times I'd ceased beating my head against some puzzle. It was usually the precursor to a better angle.
Feeling much lighter, I pushed off my sheets and sat up in bed. The first thing that greeted my sight was that box, sitting in the centre of my bedroom on the curio table, where I'd left it a week before.
I looked at it for awhile, imagining the path it had taken through the system to the city's port, and then to my house. It was, technically, not supposed to be here.
Or anywhere, really.
But I hadn't just skipped travelling last school holiday in order to prepare for finals. Enough solaires saved, and you could ease items around without much suspicion. Even this.
I pulled a few random clothes from the pile I hadn't yet organised into my wardrobe. My bedroom, closed and empty since before last school year, wouldn't look much different once I had fully unpacked. I liked it clean and uncluttered. It emphasised the curving shapes of the spacious grey carpet, and the tall windows, looking out past the low forest towards the sea.
All the while I was dressing, the box sat there, waiting its turn. Even the memory of that day's frustration couldn't dampen my smile. I ordered the dispenser to make breakfast. It appeared before I'd even finished brushing the knots out of my thick dark hair, and tying it back into the small tail that it was finally long enough to make. I took the bowl and spoon to eat at my still-empty desk.
The item I'd brought from the port was nondescript, wrapped in tan sealing gel and black security tape. It really could have been anything. I was a citizen, I had the privilege of not having my import packages automatically opened -- and just for once, I'd abused it. Never again, I promised myself. Still, it was worth it. And tonight, after the open house, I would see if it worked.
I finished my cereal and pushed the dishes back into the renewer. Normally I ate breakfast on the veranda, but I was still savouring the newness of being back home, the utter tranquillity of my big, light-filled room. This was the oldest wing of the house, with Jas's and my regular-weather bedrooms. It was almost time to move lower.
Speaking of Jas.
I heard the faint sound of music coming from the lounge above, and smiled.